Vanishing Act
by Shandethe Sanders
Summary: During the rosy hours of Mazenderan, Erik's will was law. However, when his will destroyed a princess' life, he was desperate to make amends. With the aid of the daroga, a mercenary, and a loyal maid, he sets out to strike a blow to the khanum.
1. Prologue

Vanishing Act 

(A/N: What can I say about this story? I was desperate for something different, so I took matters into my own hands. This story is based somewhat loosely on Susan Kay's version—note that I said _loosely_. Don't expect it to follow that version completely, because it won't. However, there's plently of angst, adventure, and a little bit of ass-kicking. Usual disclaimers apply. I own nothing but my own characters. Thanks to my friend Aathiya Lia for all her encouragement and advice.)

Prologue

_"Mirza! Mirza!"_

She ran through the night, her dark hair streaming behind her like a shining banner. He followed close behind, at a much slower pace. The knife was still clutched in his hand—unused, but ever present.

_She stopped at last, trapped by the ornately carved  high wall. Shaking like a leaf, she turned to him, tears running down her face. Another high-pitched scream ripped from her throat, and he longed to silence it. Not with the knife, but with—what? An apology?   
  
The knife clattered to the ground._

_"I'm sorry," he said._

_The woman hid her face from him, still crying out to her Creator for help. Her screams were like swords through his body, and he could do nothing to stop her anymore._

_"His blood is on your hands forever!"  
  
The princess was now looking up at him, but the face was no longer hers. Instead he saw a very different woman's face._

"Mother…"  
  
"Go to hell where you belong!" she shouted, standing up. "Go, you demon! Go bathe yourself in blood and death!"  
  
He  stood frozen.  
  
"GO NOW!" she screamed.

Erik awoke in a cold sweat. At first he had to remind himself that his mother was a continent away, and that there was no way she could be here in Mazenderan with him. Even if she wanted anything to do with him at all—and he was sure that she did not.

The princess had been brought back to the court and remarried to the vizier's son a month ago, but the event was as fresh on his mind as if it had happened yesterday. No one had seen or heard from her since, and it was assumed that she had thrown herself into her marital duties.

Erik was not so satisfied. 

_Why should I give a damn? Her blasted husband said that I belonged in a cage—_a cage!_ He deserved to die. I am only sorry that it was not I who delivered the killing blow._

Still, he could at least find out what had happened to her, and her little children.

No. I don't care, damn it! Even if she was unhappy, she would accept help from the Devil before she accepted it from me! As well she should, if she had any common sense.

Oh, Mother, forgive me…forgive me! Please! 

"Erik?"  
  
Nadir Khan appeared in the doorway, looking as though he'd been awakened from the dead instead of a normal night's sleep. His caftan hung loosely on him, and Erik was suddenly aware that the events of the last month had taken their toll on him as well.

"I did not mean to wake you, daroga," Erik replied, sitting up in bed, and lighting the candle on his bedside table. "Especially after you were kind enough to invite me to your estate. This has been the only place I have ever found peace, but now even that sanctuary has been violated."  
  
Nadir leaned against the doorframe. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Nothing, daroga. Go to sleep," Erik snapped.

"Erik, for the love of Allah, won't you tell me? I am your friend, am I not?"

"Yes, you are, though I can't imagine why," Erik replied waspishly. "Still, it isn't without dramatic irony. And I do love drama. If you must know, I dreamed about that blasted princess again. I will hear her screams until I die, daroga."  
  
"There's nothing you can do about her," Nadir responded quietly. "You must forget her, Erik." The light from the candle flickered, accentuating the shadows on his face.

Nothing? I think not, daroga. Did you not once say that you believed I could do anything I said that I could? I have never accepted defeat!

"I cannot," Erik replied. "Oh, don't look at me that way, daroga! I am not in love with her. I don't even know the woman. But I am interested in her fate…and you know that very little gets in the way of my finding out things I wish to know."  
  
A smile twitched at the corners of Nadir's mouth. "I pity the fool that tries to stop you!"  
  
"Then you'll help?"  
  
Nadir sighed. "Do you even have to ask? But I warn you, Erik, if your curiosity is noticed by the wrong people—"  
  
"I will deal with that when the time comes. Do you not think me worthy of the challenge?"  
  
"If it were just you against the shah, I would say yes," Nadir replied. "But he has many followers quicker with a knife than brains, and there are quite a lot of them."  
  
"Never mind. That will not stop me from finding out what I wish to know."  
  
"Oh, very well. Will you be able to sleep now, Erik?" He moved to blow out the candle.  
  
Erik hesitated. "I believe so, daroga. Just…?"  
  


"What?"  
  
"Leave the candle burning, please. I suddenly have no wish to be surrounded by darkness."  
  


                                                                ************************************

Nadir finished saddling the horses just as Erik emerged from the house, clad in his usual black robes.  The morning sun was just rising, casting everything in an orange hue.

He paused in the doorway, taking in the sights and sounds of the early morning. The steam was just beginning to lift off the ground, creating a haze around Nadir's estate. It was as though nature itself wished to protect this safe haven from the outside world.

"You are ready, then?" Nadir asked, turning to him. Erik's cool darkness contrasted sharply with the bright colors of the Mazenderan dawn.  
  
"No, daroga, I simply wished to look at the horses for a few hours," Erik replied sarcastically, somewhat caught off guard. He had not thought that Nadir had even heard him. "What did you think?"  
  
"Very well, then. Let us go back and deal with your little mercy mission."  
  
"Daroga…."  
  
"Yes, Erik?"  
  
"If you tell anyone about our conversation last night, I'll kill you." Behind his mask, Erik's facetious smile was all too apparent.

"I would expect no less," Nadir replied with a grin, spurring his horse. Erik followed suit, and they rode off.


	2. Best Laid Plans

Chapter One: Best Laid Plans 

"My lady, your mother is here," the young maid announced.

Her mistress, a thin, dark-haired woman lying on a beautifully brocaded red divan, raised her head a little.  It took her much effort to even manage that, and underneath her dark skin was an unhealthy grayish hue, not even brightened by the richly embroidered gown that she wore.

"Send her in, Sadira."  
  
"Yes, my lady."  
  
A moment later, a regal woman entered the chambers. Her harsh, brilliant vitality made a stark contrast to the ghost of a woman lying on the divan. Diamonds glittered at her wrists and throat, and rubies adorned her elaborately embroidered robes.

"My dear Pareesa, how are you?"  
  
Pareesa laid her head back on the pillow, closing her eyes. "You know how I am, Mother."  
  
"Did I not tell you that the opium would help? You feel better now, don't you, my dear?"  
  
"I feel nothing at all, Mother, which is just as well," Pareesa replied quietly. "I care about nothing."  
  
"It is better that way," the khanum said. "You never did learn that, Pareesa. Your brother was a fool to marry you to that damned Mirza Taqui Khan. His weakness infected you as well. It is lucky that he was eliminated before he tainted your children beyond repair."  
  
_Children…oh yes, I did have children once, didn't I? A son and a daughter…they seem like faded shadows now, and I cannot even remember Mirza's face anymore._

_I was desperate when I first took the opium—I'd never touched it before. But the pain was so strong, I fell directly into Mother's trap. She is a cunning woman. Perhaps if I were more like her, she would love me. _

It matters little anymore. I don't even care when my new husband wishes to be with me. I am quite content to lie down and let him feel like a man. Nothing matters at all.

"And you were an equal fool, Mother, in bringing in that wicked court magician. He has been nothing but trouble."  
  
"My darling, how perceptive of you," the khanum responded. "I did not think you still had that much lucidity left. Erik may be trouble, but he is most wickedly entertaining."  
  
"How many must die before you are satisfactorily entertained, Mother?"  
  
"A good deal," she replied, glaring at the nearly prostrate form of her daughter. "For I am growing more bored by the moment."  
  
Pareesa let the insult fly by, blurred as it was by the haze of opium. "Then I won't keep you, Mother."  
  
The khanum smiled, but there was nothing kind or maternal in it. "Have a long and pleasant rest, daughter."

                                                                *****************************

Outside the door, Sadira paused in the corridor. A man's voice was speaking.

A man? In the royal harem? Surely he must be mad! Or in the wrong place—if the khanum ever found out—

Her fears quelled as she realized that the man's voice was coming from just outside the women's quarters. She peeked around the corner.

The daroga! What is he doing here? 

Almost unconsciously, she strained to hear the conversation. This was wrong and she knew it. Maids of the imperial palace did not meddle in the affairs of men. In the eyes of these particular men, however, she was no more than a piece of furniture, to be used and cast aside, regardless of feeling or intellect.

"…Princess Pareesa…..marriage…audience…"

"Curse these echoing halls!" Sadira muttered under her breath, watching the daroga hand a purse to the nearest eunuch. "What does that man want here?"

One of the eunuchs spoke up, something that ended with the word _'Erik'._

  
Sadira's blood ran cold…she knew that name, as surely as she knew her own.  The khanum's own court magician, her 'Angel of Doom'.   
  
The daroga was shaking his head fiercely, and speaking quite forcefully now.

_The Angel of Doom is involved? But what should he care what happens to my mistress? I must find out!_

"Sadira!" It was her mistress' voice calling her, very faintly. "Sadira, come and light my pipe, if you please."  
  
"Yes, my lady," Sadira answered, casting one final glance back at the departing daroga. Suddenly, she had much to think about.

                                                                *****************************

"Have you found anything?" Erik demanded, looking up from the workbench of his private quarters. The bench was situated just to the right of the doorway, and a collection of odd inventions, neatly organized bottles, and other fascinating objects adorned the shelves above it.

"Greetings to you as well," Nadir replied dourly. "And no, not yet. The eunuchs are apparently too afraid to speak of the princess, on pain of losing their tongues completely."  
  
"I take it you mean in the literal sense," Erik replied, laying down the delicate tools he had been using.

"How else? That, at least, means that she is alive."  
  
"I know that she is alive, daroga," Erik snapped. "I wish to know in what condition. Then perhaps these damned nightmares will stop!"

"I understand that, Erik."  
  
"Do you? I think not. But it is unimportant. We have, at least, divulged something from this lack of information."  
  


"Which is…?"  
  
"And you call yourself a chief of police?" Erik teased. "Very well, then. The princess is obviously a prisoner, as no one has seen her since her marriage, and is still somewhere in the palace. Most likely the royal harem."  
  
"You should have been a detective," Nadir responded with a wry smile.

"I should have been a great many things, daroga," Erik replied, his smile almost wistful. "But let us not speak of what should be. It helps nothing. I want her wretched screaming to stop! I want her husband's dead eyes to stop haunting my sleep, do you hear me?"  
  
It was a silly question. He was shouting, and he knew it. With a sigh, he turned from Nadir, resting his head upon his arms on the worktable.

He heard footsteps behind him, and felt the gentle weight of Nadir's hand on his thin shoulder.   
  
"I hear you, Erik. I will continue with the search."  
  
"Thank you," said Erik, his voice uncharacteristically fragile. "You are one in a thousand, my friend."  
  
"A thousand? Is that all? I would have thought at least a million!" Nadir replied, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Erik chuckled, and raised his head. "A million it is, then."  
  
"Good. I never have been much for haggling. Now, are you going to tell me what you are building here?"

                                                                *******************************

  
Many hours after Nadir had left for the evening, Erik lay in bed, staring at the tiled ceiling.

At  least the nights in Mazenderan were pleasant, if one had comfortable enough accommodations. He himself had little cause for complaint. The quarters given to him by the shah were the most coveted in the palace, with their carved tile walls, furniture of the finest quality, and wide terrace. Throwing the silken sheet over his face, Erik burrowed further into plush depths of the bed.

It was not the pleasant air that occupied Erik's thoughts at the moment. It was the quick breathing of someone in his bedroom.

An assassin? Perhaps, though he's certainly taken his time in getting here. I have been at court for quite awhile!

Now he heard light footsteps, moving across the floor, drawing nearer to his bed.

Erik lay perfectly still, maintaining the same slow, easy breath. Without stirring any of his other limbs, he reached underneath his pillow with one arm, and drew out his weapon, and slipped on his mask.

He felt the hand upon his sheet, about to draw it back.

Oh no, my clever friend—you will not have the pleasure of a private viewing! 

The would-be assassin did not have a chance to react. Before he knew what was happening, the Punjab lasso was around his throat, and Erik held him firmly by the nape of the neck.

"You are late, my little friend," he said silkily. "And also quite rude! You might at least have waited until I was awake, instead of trying to murder me in my sleep. I daresay you are not the first, but you are certainly the clumsiest. I could have heard you if I was blind and deaf!"  
  
There was no response, other than a frantic gasping for air.

"You are not much for conversation, either, are you?" Erik reached up to touch the assassin's face—in the darkness, there was not even moonlight to indicate the attacker's features.

But when his bony fingers touched the assassin's face, he realized—

"A woman!" he exploded. "My God, this country _does _have everything."  
  
Without removing his hand from the lasso, Erik lit his bedside lamp, and lifted it to confirm his suspicions. He gave a disgusted snort, and promptly released her from the lasso, dumping the woman unceremoniously to the ground.

"Are you an assassin, _banu__?"_ Erik demanded. "Or perhaps a concubine seeking a…_diversion?_ Very rarely is there a woman in my bedroom, you know. All the rumors circulating the harem—oh yes, I know all about them. Now tell me why you are here, and I will end your pathetic existence!"  
  
The woman spoke at last, through the expression of sheer horror on her face. 

"I…I hope you meant, _or._"__

"Impertinent as well as rude!" Erik roared, somewhat embarrassed to be caught in such a simple grammatical error.  "You should know better than to speak to your superiors in such a fashion. Who are you?"  
  
"M-m-my name is S-sadira," replied the young woman, pulling herself into a kneeling position. Her eyes still did not meet his. Her long, dark hair hung in messy clumps, and her face veil was askew.  She looked scarcely more than seventeen, hardly more than a girl. 

When she finally looked up at him, he saw that her eyes were large and dark--and at the moment, very frightened. 

  
By her painted hands, Erik knew instantly that she was no assassin. He doubted that she had ever so much as carved vegetables. 

"Well, Sadira, will you tell me why you are here?"  
  
"The daroga was at the women's quarters yesterday, asking questions about the princess. I thought perhaps it was you who had requested to know."  
  
"Why?"

"Because the daroga himself would never inquire after that sad event. He knows better. It takes a special kind of arrogance and pride to challenge the secrecy of the Mazenderan court. And so—"  
  
Erik laughed out loud. "A reasonable deduction, girl, but it still does not explain what you are doing in my bedroom."  
  
"I am the maid to Princess Pareesa," Sadira replied. "My mistress is in terrible danger, sir. She needs help, and I know of no one else to ask for it."  
  
"You are loyal, little Sadira," Erik replied, looking down at her. "Brave as well, although you should certainly not pursue a career as a spy. Arranging hair ornaments is much more in your line, I should imagine. What state is your mistress in?"  
  
"She is constantly drugged, sir. The khanum gave her a supply of opium when she returned to court. It was a wedding present. And my mistress was so desperate to alleviate the pain of losing her beloved husband that she took it…and continued to take it."  
  
"I see. She became addicted, then?"  
  
"Yes, sir. She is no more than a ghost now, not even able to remember her own children."

Erik felt a rage wash over him, like a wave breaking upon the sand. _Well, madame, it is at least a comfort that you treat your children and your subjects with equal disregard and contempt._ He had always known the khanum was evil, but this confirmed it.

But I am no better, am I? Perhaps not—but he could still feel pity, and that was something. Perhaps he could still do something to help this wretched woman, and strike a blow to the khanum at the same time. Provided, of course, that she never discovered he had been involved. Erik may have been arrogant, but he was far from stupid. "I see. Thank you, Sadira." He climbed out of bed. "You may sleep here."  
  
"What?" the maid looked considerably taken aback. "You cannot very well go sneaking back through the palace at this hour. In the morning, if the need arises, you will simply say that I called on you for your…services. That is common practice here in this heathen palace, is it not?"  
  
"Y-yes, sir. It is." Erik saw by the expression on Sadira's face that the common practice was no new concept to her. He felt a sudden stab of pity for the girl, and cursed himself for giving a damn at all. "I will sleep in the next room. Go to sleep, little one, and may that bed grant you more pleasant dreams than it has accorded me." 


	3. Dangerous Liasions

Chapter Two: Dangerous Liasons

Nadir moved quietly through the marketplace, stopping every now and then to give alms to the beggars. He had not come to the marketplace to shop, or even to look about. Erik had sent him on a search for someone brave or foolish enough to carry out this rescue mission.

It had been one of the biggest shocks of Nadir's life to walk into Erik's bedroom that very morning, and find not Erik, but a woman fast asleep in his bed!

_At least no one could ever accuse you of being a bore, my friend. You will be the death of me one of these days. _

And this just might be the day.

Nadir was entering the port district, where the ships were docked. This area was stocked with taverns and other houses of leisure—some reputable, most not. It also had a healthy supply of cutthroats and other assorted reprobates. 

In other words, not the ideal place for the daroga of Mazenderan to be wandering about. 

However, it was still safer than allowing Erik to do it himself, which had been the original plan. Nadir had argued (and won) that his presence would not attract as much attention as Erik's own. Or the presence of the servant girl, Sadira, for that matter, when she had offered her own services in exasperation, after politely listening to the argument for a half an hour.  
  
Nadir had taken the precaution of wearing his oldest clothes, so that he more or less blended in with the locals. Besides being recognized, the other problem that he faced was finding a man to take the job. 

The streets were scattered with garbage, which Nadir tried at first to avoid, then eventually gave up. If he were covered in dirt, he would most likely blend in more. The tavern was just up ahead. According to his men, that was where most of the mercenaries could be found.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the smoke-filled tavern, just barely managing not to cough.

_Well, at least they aren't cats,_ he thought wryly.

Stepping over to the serving bench, he ordered a drink, knowing perfectly well that anything this place would serve was pure swill. Of course, he didn't intend to drink it, but it was important not to stand out in any way.

"I am looking to hire a mercenary," he said, handing a coin to the landlord. "Is there anyone here I might speak to?"

"Not tha' I know of," the landlord replied. By his red eyes and foul breath, he had most likely been sampling his own merchandise.

"Come now," Nadir replied, placing another coin on the bar.   
  
"Might be someone through tha' door," the landlord replied, indicating with one unsteady finger a beaded curtain leading to the next room.

"Thank you," Nadir said, getting up and resisting the temptation to brush off the back of his robes. 

His attempts to reach the curtain were thwarted twice, first by a tall man that continued to block his way, and then another man, probably drunk, who kept falling on him. It was most aggravating.

Finally, Nadir reached the other side of the room, and peered through the beaded curtain.

  
At first, he could make out nothing but a wooden table, but upon second glance their seemed to be a man passed out on it. He was obviously foreign—he had to be, no Persian had hair that shade of gold. Though his skin was tan, it was light skin tanned dark from what little Nadir could see in the dim light.

Before he could so much as push the curtain aside, Nadir was seized roughly by the shoulders from behind, and shoved into the room.

Landing hard on his side (and letting out a string of profanities that would have made half the brigands in the tavern blush), he saw that the man who had seemed to be passed out was now very much awake.

"Now, Jacques, there's no need to be so rough," he said, addressing the man that had seized Nadir.   
  
The man in question, Jacques, was tall, muscular and grim-faced. He glowered down at Nadir as though he did not at all agree with his companion.

Two other men entered the room, both foreigners as well. They blocked the doorway effectively.

The blond man offered his hand to help Nadir up, and he accepted reluctantly.

"You are new in this place, I take it?" he asked with a smile.   
  
"You might say that," Nadir replied.

"I do say that," he replied dryly. His accent, Nadir noted, was decidedly French, although he spoke Farsi quite well. "My companions overheard your discussion with our esteemed landlord, and we thought you might be paying us a visit."  
  
"That was very quick of them."  
  
"You learn to think on your feet in this place," the man replied. "My name is Sebastien de Chagny, by the way. I am captain of the ship _Le Reve_, and this is my crew—well, some if it, anyway. Who are you?"  
  


"My name is Nadir Khan."  
  
"Pleased to meet you," Captain de Chagny replied. "You must be the daroga, then?"

_Captain, indeed!_ Nadir thought. The man before him was less than thirty, but had a boyish demeanor that made him seem much younger.  He was tall and of a somewhat lanky build, though he moved with an assurance that denoted his awkward appearance. His blond hair was badly in need of trimming, and flopped with an annoying determination into his eyes. 

"How did you know—"  
  
"I made sure I knew your name when I arrived in Mazenderan. We've had some trouble with the law before, you see, and it doesn't do to be caught unawares. Middle Eastern prisons are rather uncomfortable."

Chagny made a motion with his hand to one of the men behind Nadir, and the man left the room.

"Guard," he explained upon seeing the look on Nadir's face. "I don't wish to be interrupted, since I'm positively burning with curiosity. What do you need a mercenary for, precisely?"  
  
Nadir frowned…this man didn't talk like most of the foreign mercenaries he had met, nor did he look like one. Still, if Nadir knew one thing, it was that a face did not necessarily reveal all about a person.

"A rescue mission," he replied. "A lady of the court, the Shah's sister, is held against her will in the palace. She is kept under opium most of the time, and cannot even remember her own children. I am employed by one who wishes her free and reunited with her children."  
  
"A very noble cause," Chagny replied dourly. "But if I might ask, why should I wish to endanger my men on such a mission?"  
  
Nadir tossed a purse full of gold onto the table. Chagny opened it, and examined the contents.

"A substantial reason," he remarked, raising his eyebrows as he turned back to Nadir. "But not enough to make me consider it."  
  
"Twice that will be paid to you when the princess and the children are safe."  
  


"It isn't the money," Chagny replied. "Who, precisely, are _you working for, Khan?"  
  
_

"He does not wish to be named," Nadir replied. "But he is a friend, and he will honor his debts should you take the assignment."  
  
"I want to speak to him," Chagny responded, folding his arms over his chest and stepping closer to Nadir. "Tell your employer, or friend, or what have you, to meet me here and speak to me himself tonight. In the meantime, I will confer with my crew, to see if any of _them wish to endanger their lives for a mystery man. Then I shall tell you if I am interested in your assignment or not."_

On a practical level, Nadir understood Captain de Chagny's point of view. If he had another choice, he would not endanger his own fellow policemen for someone he had never met. But given that the 'mystery man' in question was Erik, the captain might not know what he was getting himself into.

"There are other mercenaries," Nadir pointed out.   
  
"As I am well aware," Chagny replied. "But I assume you wish for one of the non-local variety, correct? Someone who could not be bought off? That kind of mercenary is much more difficult to find. Please understand, I am only doing what is best for my men. Tell your friend to meet me here tonight, a little after eight. If he wishes to talk, then I will be here to listen. If not…all the best of luck with your search."  
  
He snapped his fingers, and Jacques held open the beaded curtain for Nadir to pass though.

"Fare you well, sir," Captain de Chagny said.

Nadir did not reply, merely nodded. He turned, and regarded Jacques with an evil eye for a moment. Finally, he brushed the beads aside, ignoring the space that had been opened for him, and entered the cloud of smoke and alcohol that constituted the tavern.

                                                                ********************************

Pareesa lay on her back in a cloud of pillows on the floor, arms and legs stretched out almost lazily, as she breathed in the opium smoke.

_Oh, that's better...I cannot feel anything, and that is for the best. I could suffocate right here, and it would be wonderful. Mother couldn't hurt me anymore, and I would be with Mirza again._

What would Mirza think of her, if he could see her now? She had always been different from everyone else in her family, in that she had a conscience and listened to it. According to her mother and brother, her conscience made her weak. Growing up, she had always been afraid—for her family, for herself. And not without good reason, in this treacherous Mazenderan court.

When one grew up that way, one developed a certain cynical philosophy. Too many times Pareesa had seen virtue rewarded with death and betrayal, and she'd thought more than once that her own demise would not be far off.

And then she'd married Mirza Taqui Khan. At first he had seemed too good to be true—how could her brother possibly choose an honorable man for her, given his own character? Pareesa had loved Mirza's honest reputation before the man himself. And he had shown her what unconditional love could be like.

But he had paid for his honorable ways. In crossing the wrong person—if the definition of the word could be stretched to include that Erik—he had betrayed her in the worst way possible. He had given her hope, then left her alone.

_Alone, yet surrounded by people…how ironic! _

"Sadira?" she called weakly. 

The maid had been with her for years, even before Pareesa had married Mirza. Sadira was the only person left that Pareesa could still trust. The only person who was still loyal to her.

"I am here, my lady," came Sadira's calm, gentle voice from nearby. "Do you wish for refreshment?"  
  
"No. Just come and sit with me, Sadira."

A few moments later, the maid obeyed, and Pareesa could feel her presence not far away. 

"I am sorry I was not present this morning, my lady."  
  
"You weren't? Oh, yes, that's right. Did one of the men send for you?" Pareesa was somewhat disgusted with the practice herself, but in her experience men did not wish to hear their habits criticized.  
  
"Yes, my lady."

"Was he gentle?" Pareesa asked suddenly. "Did he hurt you, Sadira?"  
  
"No, my lady. He was…very kind indeed."

  
  
                                                                ********************************

_If only you knew, my lady!_ Sadira thought wryly. If her mistress ever found out that she had spent the night in Erik's bed (albeit as platonically as could be), there was a good chance of the princess rising out of her opium-induced stupor to slap her as hard as possible.

  
Which was almost enough to make Sadira consider it. Pareesa's health was beginning to fade as the opium took an even stronger hold. Seeing her once-strong mistress sink to such a low was unbearable. Nothing less would have driven Sadira to visit Erik. 

Even that morning, he had been kind—in his own way. There were moments when Sadira could scarcely believe this was the same man that had ordered her former master's death.   
  
But he had gotten a maid to rouse her the next morning, and led her to the breakfast table—where he proceeded to invite her to dine with him and the daroga, as an equal, no less! She had accepted, and the daroga and Erik began to argue about what was to be done. She had listened silently, too shy to offer her own suggestion, until Erik finally asked her. In the end, the daroga left to find a mercenary to carry out the more dangerous aspects of the work.

Privately Sadira hated the idea of her mistress in the hands of some vile mercenary, but if he could liberate her from this guilded cage…

A knock sounded at the door of the chamber.

"Answer it, Sadira."  
  
"Yes, my lady."  
  
Sadira rose, and opened the door. The vizier's son Ahmad, Pareesa's new husband, stood on the other side. He was tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, and dressed impeccably in robes of royal blue brocade.

"You may leave," he said, his cold dark eyes looking right through her. "I wish to be alone with my wife."  
  
"Of course, Master. Mistress, please call if you need anything."  
  
"I will, Sadira," Pareesa replied. "Go now."  
  
Sadira left, glancing backward once at Ahmad, who was observing the prone figure of his wife lying on the cushions with a smile that she did not like.

Seething inside, she let the door slam shut.

                                                                *********************************

_"WHAT?!"_ Erik roared. "No! Absolutely not! Of all the arrogant, stubborn, demanding—"

He brought his fist down on a nearby table, coming precariously close to smashing a valuable flower vase. 

_So this Captain de Chagny wants to meet me, does he? I suppose he must fancy himself brave! _

Nadir stood back, something very like a smile playing about his lips. "Actually, Erik…it sounds like something _you_ might do."  
  
"It does not."  
  
"Yes, it does.'  
  
"No, it doesn't!"  
  
"Does."  
  
_"__Doesn't! Daroga, I will use __you for my next experiment in amusing deaths if you continue this ridiculous conversation!"_

"I thought you were tired of entertaining that evil woman," Nadir replied calmly. "Besides, it is the princess you wish to help, is it not?"  
  
"Well, of course it is!" Erik snapped. "But that doesn't mean that I must cater to the wishes of some common sea captain and his wretched crew!"

"Why not? All you must do is meet with the captain. He only wishes to talk with you, or at least, that is what he said. Besides, we must move as quickly as possible before the khanum or the shah finds out what we are up to," Nadir said reasonably.

Erik frowned, his dead features twisting with the expression. He had temporarily forgotten about that particular problem. He let out a sigh of disgust.

"Oh, very well! What time must I be there?"

                                                                ********************************

Sebastien de Chagny took another sip of his wine, stretching his legs underneath the table. Persian wine was really quite good—very unusual in taste, and certainly different from French wine. Potent as hell, though. He had better take care not to drink too much.

"And 'ow do we know that this mystery man will even show?" Richard, one of his crew members, demanded. The others were gathered around the table, waiting and drinking. There were times when Sebastien was infinitely grateful that they had been able to acquire this room for their private use—he would have dearly loved to thrash Richard without anyone else seeing. But now was not the time.

"We don't," Sebastien replied. "But if he isn't here within the hour, then the rest of you may go back to the ship."  
  
Richard gave him a rather sulky look, and went back to his own wine. The man had never liked Sebastien, and he suspected it was because Sebastien had grown up privileged, having been born to one of the wealthiest families in Europe. 

_Not that the family in question ever mentions me,_ Sebastien thought wryly. He was far too opinionated and forthright, making him a social liability. The first chance his father had gotten, he had sent him off to join the French Navy. And now here he was, surrounded by mercenaries.

_To think, I might someday have become respectable. What a horrible fate!_

"Are Jules and Henri in position?" Sebastien asked.

"Yes," replied his first mate, Raphael.

"Good. I suppose all we must do is wait—"

Just then, Jules and Henri barreled in, as though shot out of a cannon. The men around the table leaped to their feet, some reaching for their weapons. It was not at their two fellow members that the weapons were directed, however—it was the figure behind them.

He emerged from the smoke and haze of the tavern like the Grim Reaper, completely dressed in black. The hood of his cloak was pulled up, and it seemed that in this dim light, the man had no face. Sebastien and his men were far from cowards, but something about his potential 'client' caused an iciness to collect in the pit of his stomach all the same.

Behind him was another figure, much less threatening. It was the daroga. Sebastien let out an inaudible sigh of relief, and the part of his brain still working thanked the heavens that they had not sent Death to come for him just yet.

"You must be Master Khan's friend," Sebastien said in Farsi, placing his own dagger on the table. "Forgive the hostility—you can put your weapons away, gentleman."  
  
The sailors obeyed, muttering to themselves and stealing sidelong glances at this sinister figure.

"Are you satisfied, Captain de Chagny?" the tall man in black asked, his voice cutting through the haze like a knife through butter, in the same language.  "As you can see, I do exist."  
  
"So I've seen," Sebastien replied politely. "What is your name, pray tell?"

The man did not have any accent that Sebastien could place, yet he spoke Farsi with a carefulness and smoothness not characteristic of the local population. Perhaps he was a European?   
  
"It would do you little good to know."  
  
"Nevertheless, I ask it anyway. My crew and I have talked, and we will agree to complete your mission, for the price offered—and your name. Working for anonymous employers has led us to trouble in the past, you see."  
  


"Your caution is well warranted, especially in this country," the man replied smoothly. "My name is Erik. But if you are caught, I do not know you and have never seen you. And if you mention my name, I will kill you myself." The dark glint in his eyes made the truth of his words all too apparent.

_So you are a European, after all,_ Sebastien thought. 'Erik' certainly was not a Persian name.

"Then we have a deal," Sebastien said with a smile. "What is it you need done?" He switched to French, for the benefit of Jacques, who barely understood his own language, let alone any foreign ones. _"__Jacques, obtiennent svp à notre employeur du vin__."_

  
"I wish for no refreshment," Erik replied smoothly, also in French. "I came only to satisfy the vulgar curiosities of common sailors."

Jacques reached for his weapon, but Sebastien lay a hand on his beefy arm.   
  
"While you are here, however, you may as well tell us the assignment," he said, with the same calm as before. "And I must point out that we are anything but common, but you could hardly be expected to know that."  
  
Erik gave him a look that would have stopped an elephant in its tracks. "As you wish…_Captain._" The inflection of his words made the term 'Captain' sound as if it were on the same level as 'rat catcher' or 'sewage cleaner'.

Sebastien bristled, although he tried not to show his irritation. His fellow sailors needed only the slightest encouragement to attack this man, and the last thing he wanted was a brawl.

"Well, then?" he asked.

"As you have doubtless been informed by the daroga, there is a lady of the court who is a prisoner in the palace. She is kept under opium, and separated from her children. I wish all of them free. Next week is the _No Ruz celebration, at which I will perform. I will need the help of you and your crew if I am to be successful, and a place to hide the lady afterward."  
  
"What must we do?" Sebastien asked._


	4. The Curtains Open

Chapter Three: The Curtains Open

"Are you sure?" Sadira asked, leaning forward in a most unbecoming manner. The curtains of the small sitting room were drawn, and there were half-mended children's clothes in a neat pile next to the floor cushions, where the two women were seated. The home was modest for the wife of a successful mason, but Leilah had been nursemaid to Princess Pareesa's children before she had married Rashid less than a month ago.  
  
Leilah nodded. "Positive. Mehrdad and Settareh were taken from my care a week before I married. I do not know where they were sent, only that the khanum herself wished to take charge of their upbringing."  
  
Sadira sighed. She had been asking questions for the better part of the past week, trying to ascertain the whereabouts of Princess Pareesa's children. So far, even their former nursemaid seemed to have no idea what had become of them.

"Thank you, Leilah," she said at last, turning away. 

"Wait!"  
  
Sadira turned back, and Leilah leaned in close, whispering in her ear.   
  
"But I have heard my husband say that they have been using basket children to carry sand back and forth on the building site where he works…and two of them are fairly new. I am not permitted to join my husband, so I have never seen them...but perhaps it is Mehrdad and Settareh. I do not wish this repeated, Sadira! Even if they are her children, the khanum does not want them identified as such."

"Well, I can see why," Sadira replied, her brown eyes flashing with anger. "Of course she wouldn't wish it known that she's working her own grandchildren like slaves because she didn't care for their father!"

Leilah glanced around, as though she half-expected to catch sight of a spy or assassin. "Please, Sadira! You must take care. You know what happens to those convicted of treason—even the women."  
  
"I do," Sadira replied, more quietly. "But I cannot forget my loyalty to my mistress, either."

Sadira recalled happier times, when Master Mirza had still been alive. When Leilah would take the children out to play, and Sadira would help clean them up, as they managed to collect an increasing amount of dirt each time they came inside from the gardens. And then dinner would be served, with the princess and Master Mirza exchanging loving looks over the children's heads…

Leilah was a friend to her, and also loyal to the princess. But she was afraid, and with good reason. Those convicted of treason faced Erik's maze of mirrors—and Allah knew what other horrors. She shivered involuntarily, and wrapped her shawl more closely around her.

Suddenly she cleared her throat, her eyes meeting Leilah's. "What building site are those children on?"

                                                                ***********************************

Erik stalked into the khanum's private chamber, extremely annoyed. In the middle of all the planning for Princess Pareesa's liberation, he had completely neglected his duty of entertaining the khanum.

The duty hadn't been difficult, at first. A few dead bodies a week were more than enough to please her. But now she was demanding more and more creative deaths…

Erik could appreciate a good kill, but death and violence for its own sake did not appeal to him—unless he was under the influence of powerful narcotics, which the khanum had provided him with. 

But he was beginning to fill with dread over the growing darkness within himself—the darkness was not new, but it seemed to be taking over more and more. Erik did not desire to be its slave, nor a slave to any will but his own. Perhaps, with this one act of goodness, he could claim victory over the khanum—and the darkness that she threatened to unloose upon the world. 

Shaheen Khanum was waiting for him, stretched out leisurely on a delicately embroidered divan, with two of her ladies present. One sat at her feet, bathing them in cool water from a painted basin. The other stood just behind her, hands folded and eyes downcast.

Shaheen herself was dressed impeccably, in a deep burgundy with diamonds around her throat and ankles, and rubies at her wrists and adorning her veils. Yet she was the sort of woman that would have been glamorous in a burlap sack. It was not the jewels or even the features that were majestic, but the woman herself.  
  
But there was also coldness and calculation with all this glamour, giving Erik all the more reason not to trust her any further than he could throw her. 

_About five feet, I should think, with a good tailwind._

The image of himself throwing the khanum out the window almost made him laugh, and he was very glad of his mask at that moment. 

"You have not come to see me, Erik," Shaheen said reproachfully. "I am growing displeased with you. I trust this failure is due to preparations for the No Ruz festival?"  
  
"It is, madame," Erik replied firmly, refusing to yield. He would _not_ beg forgiveness, nor resort to the flowery apologies characteristic of the Mazenderan court. 

_If I ever speak the words, "O Shadow of God" to any member of this twisted family, I shall cut out my own tongue!_

"I am delighted to hear it," Shaheen replied with a smile, showing all of her gleaming white teeth through the redness of her veil.

"Will all the ladies of the court be present?" he asked lightly.

"Of course they will," Shaheen said irritably. "They would not dare miss such an event—and who would want to? After all, I am certain that your performance will be spectacular."  
  
"I am glad of your confidence, madame. I had heard that certain members of your family were not in good health, which is why I asked."  
  
"The Shah is in perfect health," Shaheen snapped. "I do not know what you mean."  
  
"I was referring to his sister," Erik replied, equally annoyed. "I am skilled in the art of medicine, if she is in need."  
  
Shaheen studied him with interest, and Erik found his muscles seizing up involuntarily. He _hated_ being looked at that way, as though he were some oddity…like a carnival freak…an animal in a cage…

"My daughter is well enough, very busy with her husband," Shaheen remarked after a moment's silence. "She will be attending the celebrations, naturally. If any of my women are ever in need, I shall send for you. But I would prefer that you focus your considerable skills on more…_diverting_ ventures." She was still looking at him with suspicion in her eyes.

"I intend to, madame," Erik replied. "If that is all, I have many preparations to make—"

"Wait," Shaheen said calmly. "I heard rumors, Erik, that a woman has been to your bed. Are they true?"  
  
Erik smiled to himself, although he would have to tread carefully. It would not do to land Sadira in trouble, not when she was his only link to the princess.

"It is, madame."

"Who was she?" Shaheen demanded.

"A servant," Erik replied carelessly. "I did not ask her name, nor did I care to know it."  
  
"I see…" Shaheen twisted the end of one of her veils around the tips of her fingers with a tenseness that Erik did not understand. It was as if she were sitting on hot pokers, the way she shifted suddenly.

  
"You are dismissed," she replied coolly. "And I expect that all your efforts will meet with success."  
  
"As do I, madame," Erik replied, turning to leave.

_Happy New Year, Shaheen Khanum!_

                                                                ******************************

Plans for the No Ruz celebration were underway. Servants were dashing left and right, cleaning and adjusting under the watchful eyes of the guards, who stood in full livery. It made them seem twice as intimidating as usual.

Nadir tried to look as calm as possible while walking past the ongoing preparations. Erik's performance would be the following night. 

Of course, Erik had not actually _told_ him the entire plan. He had said that Nadir would be told only what he needed to know, for now. And once again, he was running errands for his strange friend.

It had been Erik's idea to pass Captain de Chagny and three of his men as assistants. Since many of Chagny's crew did not speak much Farsi, Erik had selected those most proficient at the task he intended for them—and whatever that was, Erik had assured both Captain de Chagny and Nadir that it would not involve much verbal interaction with the audience. Although Nadir wondered how Erik would manage to disguise someone with Sebastien's fair coloring as a Persian, he did not question his friend.

_All right, so I did, but he wouldn't tell me. I suppose that's what I get, being merely a…what does Erik call it again? A sidekick. A lackey. Europeans have such odd expressions…though I suppose it is an improvement over 'son of a three-headed goat', for example._

At that moment, a frightened-looking servant rushed up to him. "The Shah is looking everywhere for you, daroga! His Eminence wishes for you to see him."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Two minutes ago, according to him!" the servant replied, rushing off down the hallway.

Nadir sighed, and reluctantly followed him.

When he arrived, the shah was seated in his throne, smoking from a pipe. The subtle pattern of his cream-colored robes made an almost perfect contrast with the bright purples and lavish touches of gold that adorned the royal chamber. But the look in the young monarch's eyes was sharp and purposeful, and seemed to penetrate the deepest corners of Nadir's mind.

_Oh, hell._

Nadir stepped up to the throne, and bowed low before the shah. "Greetings, O Shadow of God."  
  
"Rise, daroga, for I am in a foul mood," the shah snapped.   
  
Nadir rose slowly. _Did the sun rise in the east, my lord?_ He knew if he had said that, his life would have been over in an instant.

"May I beg to know what troubles you, O Light of the Universe?"

"You may indeed," the shah replied. "I have heard from the guards that Erik is bringing in several strangers to help with his performance tomorrow night."  
  
"You heard correctly, my lord."  
  
"Might I know why he finds that the palace servants are inadequate?" the shah asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Perhaps he fears that they will betray his secrets," Nadir said carefully. "He is, after all, most particular about his performances."  
  
"And everything else, it would seem. My mother says that he even concerned himself with the health of my sister!"  
  
"He is an accomplished maker of potions and medicines, O Shadow of God," Nadir replied.

"I am aware of that!" the shah exploded, rising from his throne. "I wish to know what his interest is. His behavior over the past few days has been very strange indeed. Find out what he is planning, daroga."  
  
"Yes, my lord," Nadir said, bowing his head. He knew better than to argue with the shah…there were, after all, punishments far worse than death.

He only hoped that Erik would not be subject to any of them.

                                                                *****************************

A bowl of perfectly sculpted china flew gracefully through the air, and smashed directly into the tiled wall, showering the floor of Erik's otherwise immaculate chamber.

Sadira jumped about a mile in the air. "Master Erik, for the sake of Allah, please—"

"I told you not to call me that!" Erik shouted, and then took a deep breath. "I am not angry with you, Sadira. But if you _ever_ do something so foolish as leaving the palace again, I shall prove that my reputation as the Angel of Doom is well deserved."  
  
His yellow eyes were boring into her dark brown ones with such fiery intensity, the young maid wanted to fade into the woodwork.

"I'm sorry, Master—I mean, Erik," Sadira stammered. "But how else were we to find out where the children were? As it was, on the outside I was merely delivering an invitation to the No Ruz celebration tomorrow."  
  
"All the same, you are a damned fool and would have deserved whatever fate the khanum would have devised for you," Erik replied sharply. "Since you are still alive, however—"

"There is more, M—Erik," Sadira interrupted, astounded at her own daring. Even to speak without permission in front of a superior was grounds for a beating at the very least. To say nothing of the act or what was technically treason that she was about to help commit.

"Out with it, then!"

"The children my friend spoke of have been put to work on a construction site. I don't know which one, but her husband—" Sadira began, but Erik cut her off.

  
"There is only one building being constructed at the moment—my palace that I have designed for the shah!" he exploded. "He has _children working on the site? Of all the arrogant, cruel---oh, I shall take _much_ pleasure in making a fool of him tomorrow!"_

"But what can we do?" Sadira asked.

_"We?"_ Erik demanded, rounding on her. _"You _shall do nothing but stick to your mistress like glue, and wait for my signal. Unless I send for you, I do not wish to see you until tomorrow night. Pack a small bundle of things for your mistress, and have it sent to me. Pack one for yourself as well, and be ready to leave the palace at a moment's notice."  
  
"Yes, Erik."  
  
He was so confusing! The proper forms of address he refused, and yet it did not seem right, somehow, to call him by his name. Sadira felt reduced to stammers whenever she was with him, and yet her unease seemed to annoy him terribly—but he never seemed surprised.

At least, not until today, when he had learned of her spy activities. She'd thought for certain at first that the ceramic bowl had been meant for her head.

But there were times…like now, when he did not seem so frightening. She had a feeling that behind his mask, he might have been smiling.

"Just Erik. You see, Sadira? That was not so difficult, was it?"  
  
"No, Erik."  
  
"Good. You are dismissed, and remember all I have said."  
  
Sadira nodded, and backed out of the room.

                                                ******************************

The day of the No Ruz celebration had arrived, and the palace was teeming with activity.

Even Erik's chamber was busy, with Sebastien de Chagny and four of his men assisting in the preparations for the performance that very evening.

Jules, for example, was underneath some complex apparatus of Erik's that was covered with a large cloth. He was the best of Sebastien's crew at fixing things, and was always locked away in his quarters when he wasn't busy with sailing duties, working on new inventions.

"This is the most advanced gear system I've ever seen!" Jules exclaimed from underneath the cloth. "Have you read the treatise on—"

"I would much love to discuss the finer points of my process with you, Monsieur Jules," Erik interrupted, "Since I rarely get a chance to do so. But to get back to my question—"

"Yes, I can operate it perfectly well," Jules replied, sliding out from underneath the machine. His short, wiry form was slightly coated with grease, and his dark hair was standing on end, as always, but his eyes were aglow with excitement.  He peered under the cloth, examining the outside of the machine.

Rather sensible of Erik to stop Jules before he gathered steam—fond as Sebastien was of his comrade, he was unable to listen for more than five seconds together when Jules started to get technical…Although he _was curious._

He started toward the machine himself, but Richard caught his arm. "I wouldn't if I were you. Forgive me, monsieur le capitaine, but you wreak havoc with anything more complicated than a shaving brush."

  
Sebastien gritted his teeth. "If you're referring to the incident with the church organ, I—"

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Erik asked suddenly, casting an amused glance in their direction.

_Wonderful.__ Thank you, Richard, I have always wanted to look like an utter imbecile in front of an employer. _

"No," he replied, forcing himself to sound as innocent as possible.

 "Good," Erik said. "Then it's settled. Monsieur Jules will operate this machine tonight. Meanwhile, Monsieur Henri and Monsieur Richard will wait below the trapdoor for the…_cargo, as it were."  
  
_

Yes, that all sounded reasonable. And yet—

"Just a moment," Sebastien said, "Perhaps I shouldn't ask, but what is it that you want _me_ to do?"

Erik surveyed him carefully, stepping closer, until he was less than a foot away. A soft Persian breeze caused his black cloak to brush against the sleeve of Sebastien's white shirt.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered.

                                                                ****************************

Nadir stood at attention as the last member of the royal court entered the banquet hall. Normally it was not common practice for the men and the women to dine together—but Mazenderan was famous for flouting religious codes.   
  
The khanum sat in her place of power next to the shah, and he noticed Princess Pareesa and her new husband not far away. Sadira had chosen the spot according to Erik's orders. The servant girl was now sitting beside her mistress, hands folded in her lap. 

He felt rather sorry for her, and yet had to marvel at the valor women could possess. Sadira's manner indicated that she was afraid of her own shadow, and yet her first act of disobedience was punishable by death. 

_Allah help me, I shall never understand women…but may the angels protect me if I ever become their enemy!_

A large stage had been constructed at one end of the large hall, and the light suddenly dimmed, and went out. Amidst the curious murmurs of the audience, a light began to shine from below…and the tall, skeletal figure of Erik, swathed in robes of deepest violet, rose with it. On the stage with him—the only prop—was a large coffin made completely out of hammered gold, and bedecked with sparkling jewels.

His voice rang out in the chamber, like that of a despairing god. And yet the sound became more powerful as he sang of betrayal, of love and revenge. When the song died away, stunned applause took its place.

"But now," he said. "I have a much better surprise to welcome the new year—I have here the God of the Sun!"  
  
He threw open the lid of the coffin, and another figure rose out of it. A gasp went up though the audience—the figure's arms were crossed in front of his bare chest, and he seemed to rise from the coffin completely unassisted.

Nadir gaped, but not because of the spectacle.

_Captain de Chagny?! Allah, now I have seen everything!_

At least now he understood how Erik had planned to disguise the captain. He had made use of Sebastien's fairness, even accentuated it with the application of gold dust to the man's skin. His eyes were outlined in black kohl, making his blue-green eyes stand out like a cat's. The captain was clad in nothing save gold-colored trousers that reached his knees, with a jeweled belt at his waist.

"The very Sun obeys the command of the Angel of Doom!" Erik thundered. "Step out of the coffin!"  
  
The Sun God—or, more accurately, Sebastien—stepped out of the coffin effortlessly, and knelt down in front of Erik.

"Can the light of heaven overcome the blackness of death?" Erik demanded. "Show your light!"  
  


Sebastien raised his arms, on which he wore bands of pure gold, and for just one moment, the entire room went a glowing, vibrating white. 

_"Nothing can overcome the Black Angel of Death!"_ Erik shouted, seizing hold of Sebastien's wrist. It looked as though an almighty battle were about to take place, between the forces of darkness and light. Out of the very air, it seemed, Erik plucked an obsidian dagger, and held it to Sebastien's throat. 

In that moment, the chamber went pitch black.

There were screams and shouts, and even laughter from the audience, who burst into applause.

Nadir had to smile, though he sincerely hoped the captain was still alive.

_Well done, Erik._

                                                                **************************

Pareesa felt herself being lifted by strong arms, and carried down….just down. But that was impossible, there were no stairs in the banquet hall!

She was being ushered down a long tunnel…where was she? Who were these people?  
  
Opening her mouth, Pareesa tried to summon a cry, but a woman's small hand muffled her call.

She recognized the scent of the woman's hand…

"All is well, my lady," she heard Sadira whisper. "You are safe."  
  
"Sadira," she murmured. "Sadira….what…?"

And then everything went blank.


	5. The League of Not So Ordinary Gentlemen

Chapter Four: The League of Not So Ordinary Gentlemen

When the lights came back on, Erik's robes were coated with gold dust. The 'Sun God' had disappeared. 

_"His blood gives me strength!"_ Erik intoned. _"Through a sacrifice, the Sun God drew his strength...from the Sun God, I draw mine. The cycle is complete!"_

__

__As he had expected, the royal family and their guests were transfixed on the performance. The princess' husband, Ahmad, was half-asleep on the cushions, and did not seem to have registered what had happened. 

  
Erik's smile widened behind his mask. Had Sadira taken the precaution of slipping something into his drink? If she had, it had worked very well indeed. But now, it was time to end the show. One of his finer performances, if he did say so himself. 

Gesturing to the coffin once again, another figure arose...a silver skeleton that moved of its own accord. Erik stepped in front of the coffin, and the skeleton mimicked the movement of his arms as he raised them high above his head. 

_"The cycle is complete!" _He was almost screaming now. _"Let the new cycle begin--the cycle of darkness!"_

A cloud of black smoke enveloped both himself and the skeleton. When it finally cleared, the skeleton lay in pieces on the stage--and Erik was nowhere to be seen. 

Or so it appeared. He was actually concealed just behind the curtain, as the audience burst into applause. After a moment's pause, he stepped out to accept their praise. As he took his bow, he noticed the khanum watching him, as she tossed a large gold purse to him. 

He raised one arm in acknowledgement, trying once again to conceal his smile. 

_Let the games begin, Shaheen Khanum._

************************* 

It was ridiculous. He was the captain here, wasn't he? So shouldn't he be able to go where he wished on his own ship? But then, Sebastien had no wish to disturb the ladies' privacy, or to violate any religious codes. 

However, the ship's doctor was asleep, and he had to see if the women needed anything. They didn't seem to be responding to his knocks at the door, however. 

Feeling a bit silly at his hesitation, Sebastien entered the cabin, closing the door softly behind him. It was really quite ironic--he'd travelled far and wide to escape the hypocrisy of the nobility (or, more accurately, been sent away from it), and now here he was, with a princess in his care. 

Her maid, Sadira, was sleeping soundly, curled up in a blanket on the floor beside the princess' hammock. He smiled, as the sound of her snoring indicated the presence of a cat rather than a woman. 

He approached the bed cautiously, knowing that he should simply turn around and let the women sleep. For the sake of courtesy—not to mention the laws of the Muslim religion. But there were always exceptions, and Sebastien wanted to see for himself this woman that they had risked there lives for. The frantic pace of events the night before had left him unable to return to his ship until dawn.   
  
Princess Pareesa was unveiled at the moment,and her eyes were closed in deep slumber. Her shining dark hair was only slightly mussed from sleep, and her face was undeniably beautiful--although the telltale signs of her addiction were all too obvious. The dark circles under her eyes, the way her cheekbones jutted out sharply.... 

They would have to wean her slowly off the drug, Sebastien knew. More than one member of his crew had fallen to opium in the past, and he had stubbornly fought to help them overcome it. 

He only hoped that the princess, like his men, would want to be saved. 

Sebastien wished that she would awaken, so that he might see her fully animated. It was impossible to tell what she was like when she was asleep. It was, after all, the woman behind the face that mattered. He had a great desire to learn everything he could about her... 

_I feel a bit like a knight in those old legends, like...what was his name? Sir Lancelot, or something like that._

He laughed to himself, trying to smother the sound. _Sir Lancelot, my arse. Don Quixote is more like it._

"Who are you?" 

Sebastien stopped laughing abruptly, and looked down in surprise. Princess Pareesa's eyes were open, and she was attempting to sit up in bed. Her voice was low, almost gruff, and he suspected she was parched. Reaching over to the water jug on the bedside table, he filled the cup with water and pressed it to her lips. 

"There, now," he said softly, helping her sit all the way up to drink "My name is Captain Sebastien de Chagny, of the ship _Le Reve. _I have the honor of being your host while you recover." 

The princess seemed to accept this, and relaxed onto the pillow. "And where is Sadira?" 

She really was beautiful. Sebastien had expected that—in all the stories he had read, princesses were always beautiful. The princess was also younger than he had expected...perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three, at a guess. But it was more than her face that intrigued himshe was troubled, he could see that now that she was awake. And not only by her addiction. He had the insane impulse to embrace her and take her pain away if he could. 

He really had gone insane, once and for all. 

_Oh, well...as long as I'm not chasing any windmills.  
  
_"She's asleep beside you, on the floor," Sebastien replied, placing the cup back on the table, and lowering the princess back down onto the pillow. "We offered her a proper bed, but she refused to leave your side. Perhaps when you're a bit better, you can convince her."  
  
She smiled slightly. "Perhaps." She hesitated. "How did I come to be here? The last thing I remember is the No Ruz performance." She paused, and narrowed her eyes as she examined him closer. "Did something happen to your eye?"  
  
Sebastien reached up, and touched his left eyelid. His hand came back dusted with black kohl—he had not been able to wash all the wretched stuff off the night before. 

_Oh, damn!_   
  
"That, Princess, is a story for later, when you are stronger," Sebastien informed her. "It's very long and really requires more than one person to tell it--and possibly a few visual aids." 

Erik had made it perfectly clear that Sebastien and his men were not to let the princess know who her benefactor was, under any circumstances. He would visit to see the princess' progress, but they were never to see each other. Sebastien was not sure why--he had tried to ask Sadira before she had fallen asleep, but the maid had been very evasive. 

  
The princess closed her eyes, and groaned. "I don't understand any of this. Why would you wish to help me? You don't even know me."  
  
"Never mind, my lady," Sebastien replied quietly. "For now, just rest. There will be time for questions later."  
  
He waited for her response, but none came. She had fallen asleep. 

_Sleep well, Dulcinea._

__

***************************** 

"Erik, wake up!" Nadir shouted, giving his friend's shoulders a hard shake. 

It was a brave man that approached Erik at all, especially to wake him. Nadir didn't even want to think about what Erik would do to anyone else, had they dared to step into his bedchamber. 

_Well, the little maid didn't do so badly, all things considered..._

"Why are you awake, daroga?" Erik demanded sleepily, breaking free of Nadir's grip and turning over on his side. "It's the middle of the night!" 

"It's noon, Erik. Do you see the bright sunlight streaming through the windows."  
  
Eyes still squeezed shut, Erik replied, "No." With that, he flung the covers over his head. 

Nadir sighed. "Don't make me throw water on you, Erik. This is serious, get up!" 

"Oh, very well," Erik groaned, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What is it?"  
  
"The khanum wishes to see you on behalf of the shah. If I'm not much mistaken, it's about....your performance last night." 

"Took the witch long enough to notice," Erik remarked as he flung the covers back reluctantly. 

Nadir paused. "What are you going to tell her?" 

Erik rose from his bed, tying on his mask. "Nothing, daroga. Why should I tell her anything? The kidnapping of the princess was an act done by foreign rogues, or possibly part of a new plot to compromise the shah's power. What has it to do with a mere court magician like me?"  
  
"Do you really think she'll believe that?"  
  
"I doubt it. But once I say as much to her, word will spread through the harem and into the shah's hearing. And he'll look ridiculous if he does not explore the possibility. That, at least, will buy us some time."  
  
_Time,_ Nadir thought as he looked at his friend, _is not something you have much of, Erik._

"Daroga, what are you staring at?" Erik demanded. 

"I was just thinking," Nadir replied. "How much longer do you plan to stay in Persia? The way things are going with the shah and the khanum...I'm only concerned about you, Erik. Between them and your occasional debacles with the hashish and opium--" 

Erik sighed, although he sounded slightly irritated. "I will only stay until my palace is complete. I owe this one monument to my old master's teaching. As to the drugs, daroga...I can make no promises there. But rest assured, I shall stay on the alert." 

When Erik looked up again, Nadir saw the softness in his eyes, as though the 'court magician' was touched by Nadir's concern. 

_I shall be on the alert as well, my friend._

"Let us be off, then," Nadir said simply. 

*************************** 

"You wished to see me, madame?" Erik asked, as he was ushered into the khanum's private chamber. "I do hope you were pleased by my performance."  
  
"Indeed I was," the khanum answered, raising her hand to offer him a seat. That day, she was dressed in robes of coral, with matching veils and gold jewelry. 

"You have outdone yourself, my dangerous friend. But I must ask you a few questions—I do hope you do not mind."  
  
"Even if I do, madame, you will ask nonetheless," Erik replied wryly, politely refusing her invitation. 

The khanum's curiousity was as insatiable as her sadism. 

"You aren't wrong," Shaheen Khanum replied. "By now you must have heard of my daughter's disappearance."  
  
"Yes," Erik responded. "The daroga informed me that it happened during my performance."  
  
He was careful not to say too much at once. He would remain aloof as always, dismissing it as something below his concern. No blame could fall on Nadir, Erik would see to that. And the princess and her children had to live free, or Erik would be forever responsible for their suffering by his own conscienceif such a thing existed. 

"You were correctly informed," Shaheen said, her tone becoming sharper. "But let us not pretend, Erik, that you did not know?"  
  
"I have no intention of pretending, madame. Such things are for the stage only. If your daughter was kidnapped, surely that is a matter for the shah and his police to handle?"  
  
"It might be, were it not for yourunusual stagehands last night," Shaheen replied. "Especially your _'Sun God'_well, you do see how it is, do you not? No one knows those men, so naturally they fall under suspicion. And since, presumably, it is you that they work for"  
  
"Ah," Erik said, as though he had only just caught on to Shaheen's line of thinking. "Those men were foreigners, but I did not know much about them when I hired them. The only reason that they were hired is because I wished for men who could not be bought off as easily as local men. If my skills as a magician were revealed by mere gossip, I would be quite_annoyed."_

"That was what I thought, and attempted to explain to the shah," Shaheen replied with a sly smile, moving one hennaed hand gracefully to rest on the edge of her red velvet divan. "Men, however, are stubborn. Especially my son. And Lord Ahmad is nothing short of furious at the abduction of his wife."  
  
_Or more accurately, the humiliation of the fact that he slept through it,_ Erik thought. From what he knew of the grand vizier's son, he was certainly not blameless. 

"Madame, I must confess that I am confused," Erik said airily. "What is it that you wish for me to do about this occurrence?" 

"Simply this—be on your guard, Erik," Shaheen said, her delicately lined eyes narrowing as she looked down upon him. "You are being watched, my friend."  
  
"Thank you, madame," Erik replied. "I shall be aware of that."  
  
"And Erik?"  


"Yes, madame?"  


Shaheen leaned forward 

"Allah is watching you." 

******************************** 

"Please, mistress, you must eat." 

Pareesa was sitting up in her hammock--or, more accurately, she had been pushed into a sitting position. The scent of herbs and broth wafted up to her nose, and the smell nearly sickened her. Food simply did not interest her, it was too much of a burden to eat. And why was it so important to stay alive, anyway? 

Suddenly her eyes fluttered open. 

"Sadira, is that you?" She asked. 

"Yes, my lady. Don't worry." Sadira ladled some soup onto the spoon, and Pareesa forced herself to swallow. 

_Little chance of that,_ Pareesa thought dourly. Although she was still in a haze, she had enough of her wits about her to see that she and her maid were both fugitives. And if they were found...Pareesa could not bring herself to imagine what her mother would do. There was also still the matter of how exactly she had come to be here in the first place. That Frenchman, Captain de Chagny, had evaded her questions before. 

_Although at the time I was convinced I was looking into the face of an archangel,_ she thought. In the books shown to her by European missionaries, angels were usually represented as having the same fair coloring as the man she had woken up to see. There was something oddly familiar about this man, especially those blue-green eyes... 

Sadira had been sleeping at her side for the past two days, taking care of her as always. And yet even she--for the moments that Pareesa was fully awake and in control of her faculties--would not answer her questions. It was unbearably frustrating. Who had arranged for her to come here? Were these men rogues bent on kidnapping her to attain power? If so, they had surely wasted their time. 

And why bother caring for her at all? Surely if they wished to ransom her off, it would be more impressive if she were beaten and starved. That, at least, had been the punishment she and her children had been threatened with had she refused to marry Ahmad. It could be that they were good men--Pareesa had heard of such creatures in legend, even had been married to one once. But few men acted out of their own goodwill. There had to be something in it for them--but what? 

"Mistress, you are looking much healthier today," Sadira said conversationally, dabbing a wet cloth on Pareesa's forehead. 

"I wouldn't know, I don't have a mirror," Pareesa remarked wryly. "But I feel like a corpse that's been buried for a hundred years."  
  
"Or a few hundred," Sadira chimed in, and clapped one hand over her mouth abruptly. "Oh, my lady, I'm sorry--"  
  
Pareesa laughed, but was overtaken by a coughing fit. When it ended, Sadira pressed a cup of water to her lips. 

"Don't worry about it, Sadira. It was funny, and in any case you're probably right. I have all the strength and energy of a corpse!"  
  
"You will regain your strength," Sadira replied, urging another spoonful on her. 

"I have no strength, Sadira," Pareesa replied with a sad smile. "Dearer than a sister, but you cannot help me much further. The craving preys on me more and more...food has no taste, the sky has no color...there is nothing to look forward to, or even to live for."  
  
"My lady, you're wrong," Sadira said quickly. "Your strength is your own, and you will overcome this. For Mehrdad and Settarah...do you remember them?" 

"Sometimes," Pareesa replied honestly. "Are they still....I mean to say, are they...?"  
  
"Alive? Yes," Sadira answered quietly, and from her voice, it sounded as though she were trying to refrain from saying more. 

"I'm finished eating, Sadira. Light my pipe for me, won't you?" 

She heard her maid give a sigh, but otherwise offer no comment. Closing her eyes, she heard Sadira rustling around for the pipe. Finally, she could smell the cool, intoxicating poison in the air. 

Pareesa breathed in the opium again, and closed her eyes as the questions in her mind faded... 

_Oh, Mehrdad...sleep now, little angel..._

__

__Was she thinking those words, or saying them? The haze of the smoke welcomed her back like a familiar friend. 

__

_Settareh, wash your face, Papa will be home soon...._

__

_Mirza will be home soon..._

  


****************************************** 

Sadira at last turned away from her sleeping mistress, closing her eyes in a vain attempt to restrain her tears. One moment, Pareesa had been talking normally, the next--she was back in her own world, and Sadira was left alone. 

_At least she has a chance to recover now, a chance to live her life again. If we can get the children back--_when_ we get the children back--I am sure that she will work twice as hard to become strong again. Settareh looks just like her father, and little Mehrdad...how could anyone ignore him?_

__

_I only wish I knew that they were safe._

__

Erik had said that he would send word, and try to buy them a little time in which to get to the children. Sadira hoped it would not be long. When she thought about what those poor children had been through, the children that she had helped to raise, it made her sick with fury. 

And then, there was Erik himself. Sadira had no clue how to take him, except simply to obey his orders. He could be absolutely terrifying one moment, and the kindest and most considerate of men the next. He changed about as often as the wind. And Sadira worried that, despite the reassurances of the daroga, that he would also change his mind about helping Princess Pareesa and her children. She still was not sure why he had agreed to help her in the first placeshe had been too relieved and grateful to ask. 

She wasn't even sure what her feelings on the subject of Erik were. He had, after all, caused the death of her former beloved master--though the extent of his involvement was unknown to her--and the separation of her from her mistress until the princess' remarriage. Sadira had not been permitted to accompany the family in their exile. In her more lucid moments, Pareesa had said that was for the best. Towards the end of his life, Mirza was hardly recognizable as the noble man that he had once been. 

Much as she had loved her former master, Sadira had been born and raised in Mazenderan. She knew the functions of the royal court as well as she knew the back of her hand, and no one noble and good could possibly be expected to last long. Yet Mirza had made her believe, for a short time, that perhaps he would triumph. The only weapon Sadira had was her silence, knowing to simply obey orders, never question, and pray that no one noticed her. 

And yet Erik, the man that all of Mazenderan feared, treated her as an equal. She had heard stories that he was not so terrible all the time. After all, Erik was a friend of Nadir Khan, who Mirza had a high opinion of when he was alive. The daroga was a good manand a good man would not have a demon for a friend, would he? 

The world was a disgustingly complicated place. Was there nowhere on earth where people could simply eat a meal without worrying about being poisoned, or take a walk in the garden without fearing being shot? 

A knock sounded at the door, and Sadira's eyes darted to Pareesa, who was laying quietly with her eyes closed, occasionally murmuring under her breath. 

She rose, and crept to the other side of the cabin as quietly as possible--not that it was really necessary. Pareesa would not have noticed if a herd of elephants stampeded through the room.   
  
"Who's there?" She demanded. 

"Only me," came the voice of one of the crew members, in heavily accented Farsi. "How is the princess?" 

She opened the door to the short one called Jules, and he stepped inside. 

"About the same.," Sadira replied, indicating Pareesa. "I can't get her to eat very much at one time, but at least she's eating."  
  
"Better than nothing, I suppose," Jules agreed. 

Sadira glanced over at Pareesa's prone figure, and sighed. "I suppose," she repeated. 

"The captain sent me to ask if you needed anything, and also to tell you that our mysterious friend is visiting tomorrow night--it's the soonest he can get away. He wants to discuss the plans regarding the children." 

_About time,_ Sadira almost said. She bit back the words just in time.   
  
"I see," she said at last. "You may tell the captain that we require nothing right now, but please thank him." 

_Wait_. _Erik, here? In the same vicinity as Pareesa! Allah, if she sees him--_

Jules nodded, and turned to leave. 

"Wait!" Sadira cried. At that moment, Pareesa stirred in her sleep, uttering a low moan. But she soon lapsed back into silence, as the smoke curled and wafted around her. 

"What is it?" Jules asked, pushing back a considerable amount of spiky hair from his face. 

"When _he_ comes, and you need to summon me, do not mention his name!" Sadira whispered. "I cannot tell you why, so please do not ask. Just do as I request!"  
  
"Very well," Jules responded, furrowing his brow quizzically. "I'll go now—" 

He was cut off by a sudden shriek from Pareesa. "Get your hands off of me!" she cried. "Mirza, help me! For the love of—no, no! _NO!_ You are not my husband!Leave me alone!_"_

"Yes, go!" Sadira urged. "Thank you, sir, but I must tend to the princess now. I shall call if I need assistance."  
  
Very reluctantly, Jules turned to leave. Sadira dashed over to her mistress, who was now thrashing about wildly in the hammock. 

"You're safe, my lady!" Sadira called, hoping that some part of Pareesa was still listening. "He can't hurt you here. And he never will, not while I'm alive!" 

She knew the words were true. Pareesa would have done as much for her, and as it was, Sadira would do whatever was in her power to keep her mistress from Lord Ahmad. 

_I only hope I'm equal to the task!_

************************** 

Nasir Shah waved his hand carelessly, and the slave removed the midday meal dishes. At that moment, another slave entered. 

"Lord Ahmad, Your Excellency."  
  
"Send him in," Nasir replied, leaning back in his throne. After a day of tending to tedious matters of state, an interview with his brother-in-law would prove to be quite entertaining indeed. 

Ahmad apparently hadn't waited for the slave to officially summon him, for he stormed in with all the grace of a raging bull. 

"My brother, what troubles you?" Nasir asked airily, as though he didn't know. His sister had managed to get herself kidnapped by someone or another, and the shah had a sneaking suspicion who was behind it. And the fact that Ahmad, her husband and the son of the new vizier, had virtually slept through her abduction, was the icing on the cake. 

"My wife is still missing, as you well know!" Ahmad exclaimed. 

Oh, he _was_ entertaining, Nasir thought with a smile. Flapping about like a rampaging peacock in his blue and green robes, Ahmad looked furious. 

"No one is more distressed about that than I," Nasir replied. "For it is also my younger sister that is missing. All my family is dear to me, you know."  
  
"Of course, O Shadow of God," Ahmad responded, regaining some of his composure at last. "But...forgive me, brother...I believe that your court magician has had a hand in this!" 

_Oh? And what other news do you have for me, brother? The sky is blue? The sun shines? He is as responsible for Pareesa's abduction as he is for the theft of many artifacts from the royal treasury!_

Yet Erik was no good to him dead...not yet. Not while his palace was still under construction.   
  
And there was still motive...why would Erik conspire to have Pareesa kidnapped? Was it insurance, in case Nasir decided he no longer had a use for Erik? If so, he would be disappointed....Pareesa was quite dispensible, as were her two wretched children. 

Then why? Pure amusement? Nasir had an easier time believing that. Erik was not one to shield himself behind others. But the abduction of a royal family member was dangerous territory, and quite a length to go to for mere amusement. 

"I know you do, brother," Nasir said coolly. "As do I. But the extent of his involvement is unknown."  


"Then why, if I might ask, is he not under interrogation?" 

"Think, brother!" Nasir urged impatiently. "What good would that do? If it is Erik, then he would tell us nothing...he is not quite human, I sometimes think. But through him...we may find my sister and her abductors. And _they_ might be more willing to speak, if proper force were applied where necessary. It is all a matter of waiting, you see."  
  
Ahmad sighed. "And in the meantime, the rest of us look like fools."  
  
"Indeed," Nasir said sharply. "For my sister's slave was clearly involved, and yet you allowed yourself to be tricked by her." 

Ahmad glanced up sharply, white-hot fury in his eyes at the reminder of his humiliation. 

"However, do not doubt that punishment will be given out to those responsible. No one can defy the Shadow of God."  
  
Nasir clapped his hands. "If that is all...audience concluded. You may go."  
  
Ahmad clearly had more to say, but the shah was not interested. And even Ahmad dared not risk his own favor by antagonizing the shah. 

"Yes, O Shadow of God." 

*************************************** 

Keeping his head down, Erik moved soundlessly through the streets of the Mazenderan port. All sorts of filth resided here. Nadir had been well informed about that much. 

_It is somewhat comforting to know that not all of the royal treasury is badly spent!_ He thought, turning a corner in time to avoid a cloud of dirt kicked up by a passing camel and rider. 

Underneath his mask, Erik's features twisted in a scowl. As it was, the garment he currently wore would have to be burned after this excursion. There was no potion he knew of, be it Gypsy or Russian or anything else, that would _ever_ remove the stench. 

The cold, damp night air kept most stragglers indoors, for which Erik was grateful. It had been all he could do for the past twenty-four hours not to rush to the dock where _Le Reve_ was moored, and see the princess with his own eyes. He could not be sure why it was so important to see her, only that he must do it. 

_I am _not_ doing this for you, Mirza Taqui Khan! I do not even act for my own conscience. Only to prove the khanum wrongI _must_ prove her wrong! I cannot allow her to win this battle! She shall not triumph over me!_

__

At long last he spotted the docks, where _Le Reve_ was moored. Captain de Chagny had given him very precise directions. Obviously, his methods were not as sloppy as his appearance usually indicated. Chagny always looked as though he were a day or two behind in his shaving, and dressed as though he simply closed his eyes and put on whatever item of clothing he found first. 

Which was very unusual, if what Erik suspected was true. The name of Chagny was a familiar one to most of Europe, particularly those involved in the arts. That wealthy aristocratic family had been patrons to several of the great masters at one point or another. And Captain de Chagny's manners were characteristic of an aristocratic upbringing--roughened by months at sea, of course, but still present for those who knew what to look for. 

But how did a son of such a wealthy family end up as the captain of a mercenary ship? Erik was curious, though he would not indulge such pointless mental hypotheses by asking. 

_Besides, who am I to judge? Was my family not also wealthy and respectable once?_

He reached the moorings, his steps echoing on the distressingly unsteady wooden planks. He moved closer to the docks, attempting to make out which ship was _Le Reve..._

"Monsieur?" inquired a man's soft voice somewhere to Erik's left. He turned, his long black cloak sweeping around his shoulders. In the near-darkness he recognized the face of Raphael, Chagny's first mate. 

"It is I," Erik replied simply, fully aware of Raphael's nervousness, although the latter did his best to control his nerves—the only telltale sign was the young sailor's shaking hands. 

"Captain de Chagny is w-waiting," Raphael stammered. 

Erik sighed. It was no surprise, but an annoyance just the same. Would it be too much, only once, for someone to treat him with something other than fear or hatred? 

Mentally, he took stock. _Nadir does not fear me, Princess Pareesa must despise me, and Sadiraoh, who knows? Does it matter at all? I am a monster, and will never be treated as anything else. Chagny tolerates me because I pay him, but his men go in fear of me. _

__

He had best control his temper, as that would only make the poor man more nervous. And then Erik would have to find his own way to _Le Reve,_ which would be time-consuming as well as inconvenient_._

"In that case, lead on," Erik commanded. 

*********************** 

Gritting his teeth, Sebastien edged down the foremast, holding onto the cordage for all he was worth. Henri had noticed earlier that one of the ropes was frayed, and since most of the crew was busy with accomodating their new guests as well as their normal duties, the task of repairing it was left to Sebastien. 

Which would have been fine--for anyone else. 

_Almost there_, he thought, his stomach knotted tightly. Inch by inch, the deck was looming closer. 

_God, I hate heights._

It was ironic that a sailor like him, noted for his bravery (which, Sebastien had to acknowledge, had little if anything to do with heights), should have such a strong, irrational, mind-bending fear. Most of the time he managed to keep it hidden from his men--but sometimes-- 

As he reached closer to the bottom, he saw two figures in the dim light from the one oil lamp burning on the deck. Several swear words in many different languages--French, Farsi, and English--raced through his mind. It figured. Erik _would_ arrive at a time like this... 

Sebastien hastened his descent, hoping to at least make a suitable presentation to his strange new employer. He brought his foot down on the next rung, and in his hurry, completely missed. With a loud crash, Sebastien landed directly on his face on the deck. 

He raised his head, and found himself staring at a a pair of immaculate black boots. Craning his neck, he could see a tall man completely dressed in black with a touch of some other color--violet or green, perhaps, it was impossible to tell in the dim light--with a white porcelain mask covering his face. Behind him, Raphael stood, looking unsure as to whether to run and assist his captain, or to burst out laughing. He couldn't have blamed his comrade if he had laughed, really. 

Immediately, Sebastien wished that the ocean would simply swallow him up on the spot. Though there might still be a way to retain some sense of dignity. 

Propping himself up on his elbows, Sebastien smiled pleasantly.   
  
"Good evening, Monsieur Erik." 

Erik acknowledged the greeting, inclining his head slightly. "Good evening, Captain. I trust the deck is in excellent condition?" 

The amusement in Erik's voice only fueled Sebastien's embarrassment, and he was grateful of the dark. At least Erik would not be able to see him blushing furiously. Not to mention that the fall had hurt, and he was going to be bruised in several places tomorrow. 

"Oh, yes, it is, Monsieur Erik," Sebastien answered. "Very sturdy indeed." How he managed to sound so nonchalant when he felt anything but was beyond him. 

_Hm, perhaps I should have been an actor instead. Who knows? I might have found less trouble that way._

"You are not hurt, Captain?" Raphael spoke up at last. 

"Of course not," Sebastien answered. "A few bruises never killed anyone. Well, come below deck, Monsieur Erik. Raphael, go and fetch Sadira. Don't mention why--she will know." 

"Yes, Captain." Raphael sounded relieved as he dashed off. Not for the first time, Sebastien found himself cursing the superstitiousness of some of his men. 

When they reached Sebastien's cabin, he offered Erik a seat immediately. This common civility taken care of, he proceeded to offer refreshment as well. This was refused, or rather avoided completely, when-- 

"What in seven hells have you done to your hand?" Erik demanded, his yellow eyes fixed on Sebastien's hand, poised to take hold of the wine bottle at the center of the table. 

With a start, Sebastien realized that his right hand was scratched and bleeding.. It had most likely happened during his fall. 

"Curse it," he said, studying his hand "I didn't even realize--it doesn't hurt at all."  


Erik did not answer. Instead, he rose from his chair and seized Sebastien's wrist, all but dragging him to gas lamp. He leaned in closer to study the wound. 

_His hands are like ice_, Sebastien thought with a sudden start. _And just as pale. _

"Superficial cuts," Erik murmured, almost to himself. "No puncture wounds...best to disinfect it right away." He turned to glare at Sebastien. "I trust you have something to clean and bandage wounds with?"  
  
"Of course," Sebastien replied, slightly irritated. "Now if you would please return my wrist back to me, I can see to my hand."  
  
Abruptly Erik released him, turning away with the fluid grace that Sebastien had come to expect from him. "As you wish, Captain. Only...do try not to test out any other hard surfaces from any height. It would be very tiresome for me to hire another mercenary at this point in time."  
  
Sebastien, who had been in the middle of disinfecting his wound, merely winced. The disinfectant was stronger than he'd thought. Reaching for the roll of bandages in his cupboard, he set about bandaging his hand. 

"Don't worry, Monsieur," Sebastien replied, turning back to Erik. "I shall try my best not to cause you inconvenience. It is the least one gentleman can do in the service of another."  
  
Erik gave a derisive laugh. _"Gentleman?_ What leads you to suppose that I am such a creature? Did you hit your head during your fall?"  
  
"No," Sebastien replied. "And I said that because--" 

At that moment, he was interrupted by a discreet cough from the doorway. He looked up to see the maidservant Sadira standing in the doorway. Judging by the state of her lavender gown and hastily arranged headscarf, she had only just awakened. 

"Oh, good. Have a seat, Sadira," Sebastien said, striding over to pull out a chair for the girl. She sat down immediately. 

"And now," Erik remarked, "We wait for Nadir. He said his duties would not permit him to arrive on time, but he promised to show himself."  
  


****************************** 

Erik sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He hoped that Nadir wouldn't be too long—he did not enjoy having to interact with other human beings at all. And Captain de Chagny, carrying on as though everything were perfectly normal, only added to his annoyance.   
  
To the captain, it was probably only politeness. To Erik, it was a mockery of what he would never have. 

His eyes flickered to Sadira, who was sitting just across from him. Her eyes were respectfully downcast, in the same manner of all the servants of the palace, as she waited for someone to address her.   
  
Her headscarf covered most of her hair, but there were a few tendrils that had managed to creep across her forehead. There were dark circles under her eyes, which became more visible when she finally felt his gaze and looked up. 

"I must look a fright. Do forgive my appearance, please," she said. 

"There's nothing wrong with your appearance," Erik nearly spat. It didn't matter that the girl didn't know of his own ugliness, nor did it matter that she had no idea what caused his bitterness. 

Her confusion was evident in her face, and Erik felt sure that she would have backed away had she not already been seated. "Did I say something wrong, Ma—Erik?" 

Erik sighed. There was really no point in bothering to explain. "Yes, but it does not matter. You could hardly be expected to know better." 

_Good Heaven, I am a condescending devil this evening! _He thought wryly. 

Sadira held his gaze. In anyone else, the look on her face might have resembled a glower--had she dared to do such a thing, which he doubted. 

"My lady's condition is not much better," she said at last. "Although she is eating a bit more, which is something. But I worry all the same. And she continues to ask questions--"  
  
"Yes, Monsieur Erik, I meant to ask you about that," Captain de Chagny remarked, placing a glass of wine in front of him. "How do you recommend that we field them?" 

"Any way you must, Captain," Erik replied. He forgot himself temporarily, and spoke in French instead of Farsi. "I could care less, so long as you do not tell her about me."  
  
Captain de Chagny leaned forward. "Might I inquire why that is?" He asked, also in French. 

Sadira looked from Erik to the Captain, but remained silent.  
  
"You already did," Erik replied, his voice dangerously calm and light. "But do not pry too closely for an answer, Captain. If the princess discovers that I am involved...it will be inconvenient to hire a new mercenary, but do trust that you are..._dispensible."_

Chagny arched one fair eyebrow. "Threats are unnecessary, monsieur. Advice was my only true goal, but I shall make do."  


"Excuse me," Sadira interrupted, and both Erik and the captain turned to stare at her. "I can't understand you. Can you please speak Farsi? If it's something I should not hear, you can simply ask me to wait outside."  


"That is unnecessary," Erik replied in that language, fixing her with a steely look. She, at least, understood why his name could not be mentioned in front of the princess. 

"I apologize," Chagny said, addressing Sadira. "Do not hesitate to remind us if we forget again."  
Sadira smiled. "I won't." 

A knock sounded at the door, breaking the tension. Captain de Chagny strode over, and opened it to allow Nadir inside. 

"Forgive my lateness," Nadir said, glancing at all of them in turn. "But the shah kept me later than usual today, given that I am in charge of the search for his sister." He smiled, as though fully aware of the situation's irony. 

_In all your wildest dreams, my friend, I doubt that you ever imagined being a double agent,_ Erik thought, once again wondering what inspired the loyalty and friendship that Nadir seemed to feel for him. 

"You shall have to tell us about that, as we have much to discuss tonight," Captain de Chagny replied, showing Nadir to a seat, and taking his own. "Let us begin. Monsieur Erik, you have the floor, as the English say."  
  
Erik stood, taking in the expression on each face. Nadir looked interested but apprehensive, and Sadira was sitting perfectly still, her eyes focused on Erik, waiting. Captain de Chagny was leaning foward, his elbows on the table. His expression was one of grim determination. 

_We four are the only hope for the princess and her children now. _

__

"As you wish, Captain. I shall begin." 


	6. Arabian Knights

Chapter Five: Arabian Knights

(A/N: Thank you, dear readers, for putting up with the insanely long waits between chapters. For those of you who are waiting for the next chapter of "The Price of Vengeance", yes, I DO plan to finish it. I can't say when, but I promise I will. Art school has taken over my life. :( However, for those of you who have been following _this_ story, I hope you enjoy this chapter. There's a bit of ass-kicking, just for your amusement. And mine. And L'Ange, I promise, Sebastien's backstory will come out. There are some hints in this chapter, though more will be revealed in the next. And Aathiya Lia...thank you!) 

Sadira's eyes followed Erik as he moved back and forth, pacing. Her stomach was twisted in knots, and she was beginning to feel nauseous from watching him. 

"According to Nadir's information, as well as my own conversations with the khanum, they suspect me of arranging the abduction, and it is only a matter of time before they close in," Erik said at last. 

"If they want you dead, why don't they just kill you outright?" Sebastien asked. 

He was rewarded with a scathing look from Erik. "Because, Captain, the shah still needs my services until the palace I have designed for him is complete. There is still time, but once it's finished"  
  
"All bets are off," Sebastien murmured. 

"Which is why we must act quickly if we are to succeed without unnecessary hindrances," Erik continued. "At the week's end, I will set out for Ashraf to find the children, and bring them back here."

"But how will you recognize them?" Sadira blurted out. All the men turned to look at her, and she felt a faint blush spread across her face. Speaking out of turn like this—if Master Mirza could see her now! Sitting here, planning rebellious acts with such men, and being treated like an equal! No one in the royal harem would ever believe it. Yet here she was, in her own adventure story. 

"That brings me to my next point," Erik replied smoothly. "You will accompany me, my dear, disguised as my servant boy. I brought these." 

From somewhere within his cloak, he removed a bundle of clothing, and placed it on the table before Sadira. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, feeling sick. 

_He must be joking! Me, go off adventuring? I'd be worse than useless, I'd only slow him down! And time is so important._

She opened her mouth to speak, but Nadir cut her off. 

"You are the only one who will recognize them, Sadira. There is no one else, you see."  
  
Ice gathered in the back of her throat. He was right, and she knew it. There _was_ no one else. Settareh and Mehrdad needed her, and she would go to them. 

"I don't object," Sadira said at last. "Naturally I will go wherever I'm needed. But Erik, I've never—done anything like this before!"  
  
Erik's golden eyes took on a softer, more sympathetic look. "Are you afraid?"  
  
"Yes!" Oh, if only he knew how afraid she was. 

"Good," he responded. "Then I can be sure that you won't do anything foolish." 

"But—" 

Captain de Chagny broke in. "Are you sure this is wise, monsieur? Sadira is not an experienced traveler, and time is of the essence. And assuming she _does_ go, what is she to tell the princess?"

Sadira sat up a bit straighter. She _was_ curious about that, and it was something she had not even thought of. 

  
"The truth," Erik answered. "That she is going to Ashraf to bring back the children, accompanied by a guide. There is no reason to say who the guide is." 

_I've never lied to you before, Mistress,_ Sadira thought. _I hope you will forgive me for doing so now. It is only to save you that I do this, as you would do for me._

"Then I shall go," Sadira replied, hoping her voice did not shake too much.   
  
"I will come for you four days hence, then," Erik replied. 

"If that's settled," Nadir remarked, "There is still the matter of afterward. When the children are back, what then?"  
  
"Then Captain de Chagny will take them away from Persia," Erik said. "It is important that the princess and the children be out of the shah's reach. They must get as far away as possible."  
  
"Consider it done," Captain de Chagny replied, nodding. 

"She's been having nightmares," Sadira said suddenly. 

"What?" Nadir asked, looking at her with deep concern. 

"My mistress has been having nightmares about Lord Ahmad, or what she can remember of him," Sadira replied. "He...he's a cruel man. If he finds her again..." 

"He won't," Erik said firmly. 

"No, he won't," Sebastien agreed. "We've got a plan. And we're going to see it through." He stood up straighter, somehow reminding the others that _he_ was the captain of this ship. 

Sadira nodded, hoping that they were as good as their word--not that there was any reason to doubt the captain. Or the daroga. But Erik... 

Those yellow eyes stared out from an expressionless white mask, making it virtually impossible to tell what he was thinking. 

_Please, be as good as your word, Erik. I have no one else, and I can't do this alone!_

"If that is all for the evening, I had best make my exit," Erik said casually. "Before I go...tell me, is the princess asleep now?"  
  
"She was when I left her," Sadira replied. 

"Good," he said softly, almost to himself. 

She summoned her courage. "Erik, why do you--"

But in a flutter of cloth and the opening of a door, he was gone. 

Nadir sighed, and shot a weary glance at Sadira. "I hate it when he does that." 

********************************** 

He had no idea what made him do it. What spirit, what madness had taken over his body? Would he ever begin to understand the workings of his mind? The events of that night, the night of Mirza Taqui Khan's assassination, were embedded in his memory forever. As his feet carried him in the direction of Princess Pareesa's cabin, snatches of that fatal night flashed through his mind. 

_The scorpion skittered across the smooth stone of the outer wall of the palace, trying to elude Erik's hand. But he had his now-empty water container at the ready, and quickly scooped the insect off the wall._

__

_There was still time. People had a lot of blood in them, after all. Erik had learned that conclusively. Mirza Taqui Khan wouldn't be dead yet. He would have his revenge._

__

After leaving the Captain's quarters, he lingered for a bit. Most of the men stayed out of his way. It was just as well, really. He moved silently through the narrow passageway, until he finally came to a door. 

_He made sure the captive scorpion was attached firmly to his horse's saddlebag, and strode toward the door of the bath house. He could hear the calls and jeers of the assassins within. His supernatural hearing pricked. They couldn't have...no, it was too soon!_

__

His moment of truth. Would he keep walking, or enter? 

_Mirza Taqui Khan floated face-up in the water, surrounded by a cloud of red that nearly enveloped him. Through the crimson mist, his eyes--so intelligent and penetrating in life, now blank and cold in death._

__

_No! NO! Erik raged, but the assassins merely found his agitation amusing. There were too many of them to attack...his rage was helpless, as though he were confined to a cage...._

__

_NO!_

__

Erik pushed open the door... 

_Once in the courtyard, he could just make out a shape running toward him. It was she!_

__

And there she was, asleep on the hammock. Princess Pareesa's dark hair was carefully arranged in two braids on either side of her head--probably Sadira's work, Erik mused. A blanket covered her from the neck down. 

_The look of horror in her eyes increased when she heard the shouts of the assassins within. In that moment, she understood...her screams would sound in his ears for the rest of his life, haunting him in his dreams until the end of time._

__

But the woman's face...it was still so thin, despite the hopeful prognosis that the others had given. Her skin was still an unhealthy color, and the dark circles stood out like bruises. 

_You did this!_

_I didn't mean to!_ Erik thought desperately, trying to fend off the onslaught of guilt. _Her husband brought it on himself! It was her mother who poisoned her, not I!_

__

_But you drove her to it. _

__

_No! NO!_

__

_"NO!"_ He roared.   
  
At that moment, Pareesa's eyes flickered open, and Erik realized with a shock that he had actually spoken aloud. Of all the damned foolishness-- 

_Perhaps she won't notice me,_ he thought, edging toward the door. Pareesa was still half-asleep, and her reflexes would be slow. Perhaps... 

Her dark eyes locked on him, as though she could just barely see him. He found himself utterly trapped against the door, a prisoner of her horrified gaze... 

And he remembered the cage---those hateful, jeering faces---fury welled within him, and he ran from the room just as Pareesa screamed. The sound burned his ears like white-hot acid, and his feet barely touched the wooden floor as he flew up the narrow staircase and back on the deck. 

A small bundle fell to the ground during his flight, but he took no notice. 

******************************************* 

She had thought it was a figment of her imagination, another dream brought on by the opium...but she had _felt_ him, standing there, making the whole room cold... 

And then he'd shouted, the sound of it had brought her crashing back to reality, tearing through the veil of the drug. In that instant, she was back in the harsh reality. 

Pareesa screamed. She hadn't known what else to do, but if Erik was real, then the ship was real, and surely someone would come for her. Sadira, or Captain de Chagny--- 

Then everything went dark. 

When she came back to herself, both Sadira and Sebastien de Chagny were leaning over her. She tried to speak, but Sadira pressed a cup of water to her lips. She drank it, for the only alternative was choking on it. When she lay back down, she did feel a little calmer. Looking up, she noticed Nadir Khan standing just behind Sebastien, looking apprehensive. 

"Why did you cry out, my lady?" Nadir asked, stepping up next to Sebastien. 

Pareesa glanced from the daroga to Sebastien. "I saw _him._ My mother's Angel of Doom. He was here...I see him all the time in my nightmares, but this time he was here in this room!" 

"You were dreaming," Sebastien said gently. The light from the lantern hanging nearby cast a soft glow on his hair, forming a white-gold halo on his head. 

"He's right, my lady. The...Angel of Doom would have no cause to be here," Sadira said. There was a strange undercurrent of anger to her voice, though Pareesa did not think it was directed at her. 

"Angel of Doom?" Sebastien repeated, raising a puzzled eyebrow at Sadira, who looked extremely uncomfortable. 

Pareesa sat up. "He was my late husband's enemy when he was alive, and took part in his assassination! The Angel of Doom is cold as ice! He has no soul, he--" 

"Mistress, you must not think of it!" Sadira cried. "Please, lie back down...you are safe." 

Since Pareesa's vision was turning gray around the edges, she decided to comply with Sadira's request. 

  
"Erik will always haunt me, in my dreams and in my waking moments," she murmured softly. 

"What?" Sebastien asked. She was dimly aware of him leaning over her, putting one strong hand to her forehead. His fingers were rough, but warm. 

"Careful," Nadir warned. "Don't distress her." 

"Erik," she started to explain, but Sadira shushed her. 

  
"Sleep, my lady. He is not here, he has never been here." 

"You are always safe aboard my ship," Sebastien said resolutely. "You have my word of honor, madam." 

All four of them jumped a moment later, when a knock sounded at the door. Sebastien, looking strangely determined, answered it. 

"Sir, our employer left something of his in the corridor," came Raphael's voice. "We were wondering--" 

"I'll get it back to him," Sebastien replied. From her position on the hammock, she could only see Sebastien's back blocking whatever it was that Raphael was holding. 

"You're sure, Captain?"  
  
"Oh, yes," he responded. "I want a word with him, anyway. Several, as a matter of fact. Nadir, would you care to join me?" 

************************** 

The ride hadn't taken quite so long as he expected. But then, Erik was in more of a hurry than usual. His horse trotted silently along in the darkened streets of the city. The palace was just beginning to come into view. Deciding against the most direct route, he dawdled a bit in one of the back alleys to lengthen his ride. Somehow, he did not feel quite up to going back to the palace just yet. 

What had he been thinking? Of course the princess would wake up. It had been a foolish, impulsive action. He would have to be careful not to give in to sentiment again--or guilt. The guilt he had felt was still pulsing strong through his veins, as much a part of his being as the blood that ran though them. 

_I must never allow her to see me again. I only hope that Sadira and the captain will be able to calm her. And Nadir--_

__

__Erik started._ Nadir_. He had completely forgotten about his friend. And Nadir was _not_ going to allow this to pass without comment. 

Stifling a groan, Erik urged his horse down one of the side streets. It looked completely deserted, as though no one had ever lived there. 

That was when the first shot came. It startled his horse, normally a calm animal, and he had to fight to keep control. Fluidly, he dismounted the horse and turned--only to find himself face to face with at least five cutthroats, all brandishing lethal weapons and all in various states of hygienic disaster. 

Erik grimaced. So it was to be a fight? Very well, then. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that someone had tried to assassinate him. He reached into his cloak, searching for his lasso. 

_Oh, hellfire._

__

__He must have dropped the blasted thing when he fled from Princess Pareesa's cabin. That was the only explanation. Cursing his own stupidity, he knew he was cornered. He had a knife, of course, but now the whole business would take entirely longer than it had to, and probably be a waste of time on all accounts. Not to mention a waste of lives... 

"Come on, then," he growled softly in Farsi. "I haven't got all night, children." 

The first attack was almost a joke. Erik jabbed his elbow into his attacker's stomach, causing him to drop his weapon. Another blow left him crumpled on the ground. Another assassin flew out from the side, and then another followed him--there were more of them than he expected— 

His movements were automatic and detached, as he succeeded in dispatching several of his attackers. Fabric tore and steel flashed, and rivulets of dark red, almost black in the moonlight, stained the ground below them. The sounds of leather on hard-packed dirt was all that could be heard, accompanied by a symphony of death threats, swear words, and the occasional scream. 

Erik couldn't remember how long it went on. It could have been a matter of minutes, but it felt like years. There were times when he felt as though this was all he did, all he was good for. He was Death, for these men. 

_I am the Angel of Doom!_

Suddenly something struck the side of his head. __

__

_Curse it! Why wasn't I watching?_

He landed hard on the ground, hand held to the wound to staunch the inevitable flow of blood. 

_Is this how it will end for me? Murdered like some common street rat in some back alley? Nono!_

He might have lost consciousness—it was impossible to say. But when he opened his eyes, the assassins were no longer looking at him. 

"I heard something!" one of them insisted, pointing upwards one of the nearby buildings. "Just there!"  
  
"You're imagining things," snapped another. "Let's finish the monster off, before he comes to!" 

Just then the second assassin was knocked off his feet, as something flew full force into his shins, in a heap of cloth and leather. 

Then Erik realized that the 'something' was in fact a man, in a dark hooded cloak. The man leapt to his feet, his hood thrown back. Without missing a beat, he drew his sword, and two of the assassins backed away.  
  
_Captain de Chagny!_

"Monsieur Erik, are you all right?" 

_I was fine until some idiot sailor decided to play hero,_ Erik thought sardonically, getting to his feet. Almost unconsciously, he brushed some of the dirt off of his clothes. For his part, the Captain was covered in dirt from head to toe, and didn't seem to care. 

"Fine," he said crisply. "I trust Nadir is here, also?" 

"Yes," Captain de Chagny replied. As if summoned, Nadir Khan joined the fray, his own blade drawn. Both he and Captain de Chagny moved in front of Erik, defending him. If he didn't know any better, Erik would have sworn that he was still unconscious.  
  
"Who is that?" one of the assassins demanded, pointing at the Captain with one pudgy finger. 

"That's the daroga!" exclaimed a rather scrawny one. 

"Who cares?" cried another. "Kill them all!" 

The Captain threw Erik a sidelong glance. "You need to find some better friends, mate."

"So long as you never again refer to me as 'mate', Erik shot back. 

"You know, there _are_ more pressing matters that demand our attention," Nadir remarked, glancing at the assassins who were quickly surrounding them. 

"True," Captain de Chagny agreed, his expression unreadable in dim light. He reached into his vest pocket, and pulled something out. He tossed it carelessly to Erik, who caught it in midair. "By the way, you dropped this." 

_The punjab lasso. These ruffians will never know what hit them!_

__

__For once, it seemed, Chagny had managed to do something right. With his familiar weapon in hand, Erik was ready to give his would-be assassins a lesson in manners. To start with, attacking a man when outnumbering him ten to one. 

He lost count of the number of assassins to feel the wrath of his lasso. Did it really matter? It only meant that fewer of these rats were prowling the streets. 

_This is all I am. A Living Death._

****************************************** 

Sebastien struck with the heel of his hand, sending blood flowing in all directions. His opponent's hands flew to his nose, as he cried out in pain. Leaning down, Sebastien picked up his sword from the ground. The assassin had been lucky when he'd managed to knock it out of Sebastien's hands, but he would not be lucky again. 

Leveling it at the man's throat, Sebastien paused to give the man one last chance to surrender and escape. 

A strong arm wrapped around his throat from behind, dragging him backward. He just barely managed to hang on to his weapon. 

_Then again, maybe pausing wasn't such a good idea._

The assassin's grip was incredibly strong. Sebastien struggled violently, fully aware that he only had a few seconds before the lack of oxygen took its toll. He sagged in his captor's arms, as though he had lost consciousness. When the other man's grip loosened a little, Sebastien brought his head up very quickly, smashing it back into his opponent's face. 

Not bothering to see how the man reacted, Sebastien slipped out of his grasp, and finished off his opponent with a sharp kick to the stomach. 

Only a few assassins were left now. Many of them had simply run off when they had seen Erik's lasso, and after seeing Erik wield it, Sebastien couldn't blame them. He had never seen anyone fight so coolly or so efficiently. And yet it seemed like it was nothing to Erik. He fought as only a man who had nothing to lose could fight. Sebastien remembered that feeling all too clearly. 

Glancing to his right, he saw that Nadir was doing quite well against his own opponent, having backed him into a corner. 

"Who sent you?" He heard Nadir ask. 

A movement on his other side distracted Sebastien, and he turned sharply-- 

--and then there was the glint of metal, the sharp pain--- 

--he fell against the wall, struggling to keep upright and holding his hand over his wound. 

His opponent came at him again, but this time Sebastien was ready. And this time, he wasn't about to show mercy. His sword buried itself in the man's heart, and he slid to the ground. 

Sebastien's vision was beginning to blur. Glancing up, he saw Erik disposing of the last of his opponents. He took a step toward Erik, and the ground rushed up to meet him. 

************************************** 

Between them, Nadir and Erik managed to support Sebastien de Chagny's semiconscious form, maneuvering him into Erik's quarters. There was just enough moonlight to see by, as it lit a path as bright as day for the weary men. Hardly a sound was heard at this hour in the palace, and Nadir kept his ears pricked for even the slightest new sound. 

"Quickly!" Erik snapped, breaking the silence. 

"Why? Is the injury serious?" Nadir asked, glancing at his friend. His mask was no longer pure white, but now bore streaks of dirt and blood from the fight. 

"No, I told you before that it wasn't fatal," Erik replied irritably. "I meant that the idiot is bleeding on my favorite carpet." 

"I'll bleed wherever I damn well please," Sebastien murmured through a curtain of filthy hair. "Let go, I can stand now."  
  
Nadir and Erik stood back. Nadir lingered closer, just in case Sebastien was in error. In any case, the wound seemed to have been a catalyst to some new recklessness---there were none who spoke to Erik as Sebastien had, and who still lived. 

_But then,_ Nadir thought, _would it be so terrible to have him meet his match? Assuming,of course, that two such people could ever get along without killing each other._

Leaning heavily on the edge of Erik's divan, his wound having been roughly bandaged earlier, Sebastien hardly looked intimidating. It looked, in fact, like all his effort was concentrated on standing upright. He was glaring daggers at Erik. 

"You have some explaining to do," Sebastien said icily. "You were in Princess Pareesa's quarters. Do you deny it?"  
  
Erik crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you putting me on trial, Captain?" 

"Do you always answer a question with a question?" Sebastien countered. 

Nadir fought the impulse to groan. It was like watching two brothers argue, both knowing full well that it would not achieve them anything. 

Erik regarded Sebastien coldly. "Lay down before you faint, Captain."  
  
Sebastien took a shaky step forward. "Who do you think you're talking to, monsieur? I never--" 

Nadir had just enough time to push the divan forward, and Sebastien collapsed onto it, unconscious. 

"Thank you," Erik remarked. "I can take care of his injuries from here."  
  
Nadir remained where he was. "I'd prefer to stay. Just in case."  
  
"In case I try to smother the Captain with a pillow, or some nonsense like that? Oh, very well, have it your own way. Make yourself useful, and get me that roll of bandages." 

Nadir obliged, and Erik cut apart the remains of Sebastien's undershirt, setting to work with the air of an experienced doctor. After a few moments, he stood up. 

"The wound should heal, if he can keep out of trouble for awhile. He'll have to stay here the rest of the night, and we'll get him back to the ship tomorrow."  
  
Erik handed Nadir a rag. "See if you can't get some of that dried blood out of his hair. I am going to...wash my hands." 

Nadir sighed, and took the rag, dipping it in a basin of water. From his tone of voice, what Erik _really _wanted was to wash his hands of all of them--the Captain, the princess, the maid--even Nadir himself. 

He brushed aside a mass of hair at the back of Sebastien's head, as the man shifted and groaned a little. Nadir cleaned the bloodied area--and started at what he saw. 

Hidden by hair and blood was a small scar, just at the base of his skull. It was a brand placed on pirates--and not just any pirates, but those condemned to death. He had seen the symbol only a few times before, in his dealings with criminals. 

_What have you done, Chagny, to deserve the death sentence? _

The question now was obvious. Should he tell Erik? Nadir doubted it would make much difference either way, and turning Sebastien over to the authorities would be self-defeating. Erik still had use for him. 

For Nadir himself, he was sorry. He genuinely liked the sailor, and hoped that the accusation had been false. 

"Erik," he called quietly. "There's something you should see." 


	7. Let the Games Begin

Chapter Six: Let the Games Begin

The first rays of dawn peeked through the sheer curtains of Erik's chamber windows, casting a soft light into the room. Erik took a sip of his tea, savoring the moments before the day began. He was, at least temporarily, back in his own world where he answered to no one.

But the rest of the world was not so very far away--at the other end of the room, asleep on the divan, was Captain de Chagny. He was still quite pale, though his breathing was deep and even. Erik had taken the precaution of giving him a dose of laudanum for the pain the night before--and also to keep the man unconscious, so that he would not move and do himself further harm.

The knife wound hadn't been as deep as he'd first thought. The captain had been fortunate that the blade had missed his vital organs. The damage wasn't extensive, but it would hurt quite a bit for awhile. 

Erik was not worried about the captain's health. He was worried about what would happen once he woke up. There would be awkward questions. Not awkward for the captain, but for him. How could he begin to answer them, in a way that Chagny could possibly comprehend?  
  
He would like to simply dismiss the issue, but there was a good chance it would come up again. There might be a way of buying some time, however...if only he could think of it!

Chagny had come to his defense last night. It was irksome, and no doubt motivated by the man's curiosity, but the fact that he had sustained injury during the melee could not be brushed off lightly. He hardly owed the captain his life, but refusing point-blank would have been unforgivably rude. Though he preferred to live outside society's rules, Erik could still behave in a civilized manner when he chose.

And then there was the mark...what had Chagny done to earn a death sentence? It might have been a mistake, as Nadir supposed. But if not...well, the man had best not make the mistake of getting caught twice. Erik had no time for that.

It did, however, raise questions about Sebastien de Chagny. He was not an ordinary mercenary, that much had been plain from the start. His surname and manner, for one. But there was obviously something else, something darker, in the man's past. And Erik would discover it, one way or the other.

His eyes flickered to Chagny's prone form. The man's chest rose and fell with each deep, even breath, unaware that he was being observed.

And so he watched--and waited.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first thing he was aware of upon waking was the bright sunlight streaming in from the balcony doors. In his dazed state, Sebastien was aware that he was lying on a cushioned divan, covered from the waist down with a blanket. His shirt hung in tatters, and his wound was neatly bandaged. He felt incredibly fatigued, as though he had slept a hundred years and found that he was still tired. Added to that, all of his limbs felt as though they were made of lead.

For one panicked moment, Sebastien couldn't remember where he was. Then the events of the previous night came flooding back to him, and he closed his eyes. He must have drifted off again, because the second time his eyes opened, Erik was leaning over him. He gave a violent start, but Erik took little notice.

"Well, I see you've finally come to," he remarked. "I gave you some laudanum the previous night, to keep you from moving about and damaging that wound further."

Sebastien blinked, trying to clear his head. "Sorry about the rug."

"What?"

"Last night," Sebastien explained. "I bled on your rug, and I rather remember your being annoyed about it."

Erik shrugged. "The stain came out eventually. Don't think of it now."

Odd, but it seemed as though Erik were trying to reassure Sebastien. With his white mask and stark black clothing, Erik looked out of place in this bright, sunny room. At this point, he should have realized that with Erik, one never quite knew what to expect.

"Is Nadir all right?" He asked, desperate for something reasonably intelligent to say. How much laudanum had Erik _given_ him? He felt like sleeping for a month.

"He's fine," Erik responded. "I imagine he'll visit later today, and you can see for yourself."  
  
The mention of 'later' caught Sebastien's attention. He sat up in a flash, trying not to wince at the pain as his wound protested. "What time is it? What _day _is it? I've got to get back to the ship--"

Without a word, Erik took hold of Sebastien's shoulders, and pushed him back down on the divan.

"Ten o'clock in the morning, Tuesday, and a messenger has been sent to your ship, so they know where you are. There are the answers to your questions, even the ones you haven't asked yet. And don't try to stand, or even sit up until I tell you otherwise. That wound will heal, but if you damage it further it will take considerably longer."

Sebastien grinned in spite of himself. "I see. I'll try not to be too much of a burden, then."  
  
"I must ask this---how did you acquire that injury? I didn't see how it happened; I only saw you fall." Erik said, his tone uncharacteristically polite.

Sebastien sighed. "My own foolishness, I'm afraid. I thought I'd dispatched one of the assassins, and I turned to see how Nadir was doing. I heard someone behind me, and turned, and before I knew it, I was wearing his knife."

Erik snorted. "Rather careless of you, wasn't it? Is that what got you branded?"

The memory was still vivid--the smell of dirt and sweat, the struggle, being held down by two of the prison guards, while a third shoved a red-hot poker into the back of his neck. He'd screamed, to the amusement of his tormentors. The terrified, hushed crowd of his fellow prisoners looked on with mixed horror, pity and contempt.

The last thing he wanted was to remember, but it was this memory that haunted his nightmares and occasionally still intruded on his thoughts during the day.

"That is none of your concern," Sebastien snapped, overlaying his fear of being discovered with a healthy layer of contempt. "I'm a mercenary. Isn't that why you hired me? Or did you have some delusion that I was a saint?"

"If anyone is deluding themselves in this room, it is not me," Erik retorted.

He couldn't control it. The words burst forth from his mouth before he could stop them, like a flood demolishing a bridge.

"Maybe I killed someone. Doesn't that frighten you terribly? Or can your high-minded morals not comprehend the idea?"  
  
"Be careful what you say, Captain," Erik said icily. "You are still in my care, and effectively at my mercy. Remember that before you speak."

His tone illustrated what Erik had made plain from the beginning--that Sebastien was dispensable, and Erik would not hesitate to get rid of him if he became a liability.

It wasn't pleasant, but Sebastien had learned to expect it during his time as a mercenary. Besides, at this point, he really wasn't capable of giving much of a physical fight. Though his head felt considerably clearer, Sebastien was not at full strength.

"It's a long story," he said at last. "But while we're asking questions, why were _you_ in the princess' quarters last night? You frightened her, you know! And she said—"  
  
Erik's voice was oddly flat when he spoke. "Yes? What did she say?"  
  
"She said that you...aided in the death of her husband, or something like that. She wasn't too coherent at that point. But if that's true, why would you wish for her rescue?"

"Because," Erik replied, "Her mother and brother are my enemies, and I wish to humiliate them."  
  
"At the risk of your own life?" Sebastien asked in disbelief. Erik had not seemed like the altruistic type to him, but this wasn't quite the answer he was expecting.

Erik made a noise of dissent. "I'd give a good deal more than that to see the khanum and the shah put in their respective places."  
  
It seemed to Sebastien that there had to be more, that Erik was leaving something out. He hardly expected total honesty, but all the same...

He was suddenly aware of Erik's yellow eyes scrutinizing him closely, and it made him highly uncomfortable.

"And you, Captain...who _are_ you?" Erik asked.

"Sebastien Raoul Albert de Chagny," Sebastien replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."  
  
Erik folded his arms, and Sebastien allowed himself a wry smile. "Well, it _was_ a rather broad question."  
  
_"Captain..."_

"I killed a man while imprisoned in Turkey," Sebastien replied matter-of-factly.  
  
"But you escaped," Erik remarked.

Sebastien snorted. "An educated guess, to be sure."

Words alone couldn't bring back the feeling of intense heat from the sun on his back, or the crack of the whip and the flow of blood. His own, and that of his crew. Not all of the original crew had survived.

'How did you escape?"  
  
Sebastien blinked. "Why did you help to kill Princess Pareesa's husband?"  
  
He looked Erik directly in the eye this time, an unquestioned challenge. There were still many unanswered questions on _both_ sides, after all. And after that hell of a prison, the experience of being treated as lower than dirt, he would never accept treatment like that again. He would look down to no one--especially not Erik.

For his part, Erik merely glanced away. That came as a surprise to Sebastien; he had expected further argument or sarcastic remarks. 

When Erik finally did speak, the suddenness of it nearly made Sebastien jump.

"You ought to eat something. We can't have you swooning again,after all."

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Nadir had been investigating all morning, and well into the afternoon. His footsteps echoed in the tiled corridor leading to Erik's apartments.

_And all,_ he thought over the noise of his rumbling stomach, _for naught. Less than naught. _

The junior ministers, diplomats, and petty princelings were all either too afraid of Erik or too stupid to attempt to have him killed, at least not while he was under the shah's protection. Which, for the moment, Erik still was.

The khanum...it was possible, but certainly not likely. Her methods would be far more cunning than a group of cutthroats attacking a man in a dark alley, and she would want to see him suffer. Nadir was well acquainted with the woman's lust for human suffering. And the shah would not have to resort to such underhanded methods to finish Erik off. He could simply order Erik's arrest and execution, if he so desired. _He _would want to make an example of Erik. 

Nadir still had a good deal of searching to do, but he had to find the information as soon as possible. Erik was strong, but even he could not fight off multitudes of assassins. The vision of his friend cornered and nearly beaten would remain with him for a very long time. Erik always seemed practically invincible, at least physically...but there were simply too many men to fight off.  
  
Erik was hardly an angel, but he did not deserve to die like a common criminal. Or worse, like a cornered animal. And to those assassins, a virtual pack of ravening wolves...that was precisely what Erik was. Nadir knew he could not allow that to happen again.

He knocked twice on the door, and then tapped it lightly--their code. Hearing no answer, he pushed the door open.

Captain de Chagny was sitting up on the divan, looking rather pale, but otherwise fine. He was reading a book, which he put down as soon as he saw Nadir.

A tawny-colored cat with a bandage over one eye was curled up at Sebastien's feet, occupying a patch of sunlight. The cat glanced at him briefly, then closed its eyes once more, deciding that he was uninteresting.

It was just as well. Nadir never had taken well to cats, nor they to him.

"I'm glad to see you awake," he said at last. The Captain smiled.

"I'm glad to see me awake, too," he replied wryly. "Erik's quite the healer, isn't he?"  
  
"Where is he?" Nadir asked.

"He was summoned by the khanum," Chagny responded. "You just missed him; he left about twenty minutes ago. Did you discover anything of interest?"

"Nothing but the elimination of a few suspects," Nadir sighed. "Not much of an improvement, I grant you, but better than nothing. The new vizier or his son are the only ones who might have a motive. Erik has publicly humiliated both at least once, and Lord Ahmad is not as foolish as one might think--if he thought Erik was behind the abduction of his wife, then he wouldn't dare strike in a manner that would reveal his hand. He would risk losing the shah's favor."  
  
"The way you talked, Erik was close to losing that anyway," Sebastien replied, his brow furrowing.

"Yes, but he still has the protection of the shah--at least until his new palace is complete," Nadir informed him.

"The men that attacked Erik weren't hired assassins," Sebastien began thoughtfully. "I've known rather a lot of them...if I didn't know better, I'd think there was a price on his head. If they were hired, they would have been working together."  
  
"Then they were mercenaries?" Nadir asked. "I thought so, too. Did you know any of them?"  
  
Sebastien rolled his eyes. "Of course not! Even if I did, it would hardly be a deep and meaningful friendship. Those kind of men don't care about things like that."  
  
"Men like you, Captain?"

Chagny froze, looking up at Nadir. Finally, he blew out his breath, sending strands of blond hair flying upward.

"So you know, too?" He asked wearily. "Is there anyone in this blasted country who _doesn't_ know, Nadir?"  
  
"Presumably the princess and Sadira do not," Nadir pointed out. "I found the brand mark last night, when Erik and I tended to you."

"Hellfire," came the reply. Chagny's blue-green eyes met Nadir's deep green ones. "I suppose you want to know what happened? And then you'll tell Erik, I expect. He asked, too, you know. I didn't tell him. Not the whole story, anyway."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Knowledge is power," the Captain said. "And I didn't want him to have that kind of power over me."

Nadir understood, but could not keep the worry from his voice. "You should not antaganize him."  
  
"I'm not afraid of him!" Sebastien exploded. "After seeing some of the things men do to one another, I'll never show any man fear again!"

The force of his tone left no doubt of the sincerity of his emotions. Captain de Chagny meant every syllable of what he had said. All the same, Nadir did worry. Erik's temper was notoriously short. But Sebastien was the kind of man who would put his head directly into the lion's mouth, just for the fun of it. Nadir had known many men like that, and none had lasted long in the treacherous courts of Persia.

"Just exercise a little caution and sense," Nadir warned. "That is all I ask."  
  
Sebastien sighed. "All right. I'll try."  
  
"And let me add," Nadir continued, "That anything you tell me will remain in the strictest confidence. I am not obligated to tell him everything, you know." He couldn't hold back a slight smile.

Sebastien rose his eyebrows. "Always thought you were a wily one. But why do you want to know about me?"  
  
Nadir shrugged his shoulders. "You are a rare man, Captain. I wish only to know what you could have done to earn yourself a death sentence."

"I killed someone," Sebastien said after a long pause. "My crew and I were imprisoned in Turkey for almost two years, on a smuggling charge. My first mate had decided to earn a little extra on the side, and conveniently forgot to mention it to the rest of us. He killed himself, and so the police had to settle for us as the scapegoats. We were charged with piracy, and would probably still be serving time there...but I killed one of the guards in a senseless fight. So I was branded and sentenced to death." 

"And then...?"  
  
"Then, there was a riot that night. Half the guards were killed or injured, and the prisoners made a run for it. Some of them joined up with my crew. After that...the piracy charge that had been false became a reality. We had to make a living somehow, after all. And it's difficult to go back, once you've started something like that."

"Do you have any family, Captain?" Nadir asked.

"Oh, yes," Sebastien replied, his expression becoming difficult to read. It was as though he were trying not to remember. "They are...they are of the aristocracy. Yet another reason to avoid going home. I doubt they'd approve of my new career."

Nadir found himself returning the other man's sardonic smile. He, too, had grown up in an aristocratic family. The cultures were different, but the pressures were the same. Marry well, keep on your toes, and don't offend anyone. Was it any wonder that Sebastien was not eager to go back?

"Pull up a chair," Sebastien invited, shifting his legs and displacing the cat resting at his feet, much to the annoyance of that feline, who promptly voiced his displeasure. "God knows Pirate here isn't much for conversation."  
  
_"Pirate?"_ Nadir repeated in disbelief. "That's his name?"  
  
Sebastien grinned. "Named him myself. Erik gave me full permission, I assure you. Would you like a game of chess or something while we wait? I think Erik will be gone for awhile."

Nadir sighed, with a trace of weary humor."All right."

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Shaheen Khanum blew a perfect ring of smoke from her pipe, and returned her gaze to the masked countenance before her. Erik was rarely uncomposed in her presence—in fact, Shaheen would have gone so far as to say that he was bored. Even her summons did not seem to distress him in the least. Nor the rumors that it was he who had instrumented Pareesa's kidnapping.

"My son-in-law is quite distressed," she remarked. "But the shah will hear none of it, for which you must surely be thankful. The accusation of abucting a member of the royal family is not to be taken lightly, be it true or false."

"Indeed not," Erik replied noncommittedly. "And, if such an accuasation exists, one must suspect that it is being done to divert attention away from any..._unpleasantness_...between your esteemed family and your daughter's new in-laws."  
  
_What could Erik possibly know of that_? Shaheen tried to maintain her composure. The new vizier was a fool with a remarkable sense of self-preservation. Surely _he _couldn't have abducted Pareesa? And if Lord Ahmad had, then he was a brilliant actor.  
  
Shaheen had learned to obey her instincts, and they told her that Erik was no longer to be trusted. A pity. He _had_ amused her so, and she had dreamed of possessing him...his body, at any rate. So tense and lithe, and yet skeletal and fragile at the same time. It would be like dancing with a deadly cobra.

But her son insisted that Erik be kept alive. The boy was determined to have his palace finished, one way or the other. And Shaheen was concerned it would cost the dignity of the family, assuming there was any of that left.

"I have spoken with my son," she said at last. "And he says that you are innocent until he decides otherwise."

If the boy had said, 'innocent until proven guilty', Shaheen would have thought he had taken leave of his senses—or been possessed by the late Mirza Taqui Khan.

"You may go," Shaheen said, waving one bejeweled hand. "But be careful, Erik."

It was not a gentle warning, but a subtle threat. And unless Erik was a fool, he would take the hint.

He nodded very slightly. "Yes, madame."

What had she expected? Erik would never beg for her help, or even ask for it. He was no fool, and only a fool would have suggested his guilt. Shaheen was not so much interested that her daughter had been abducted...she was far more intrigued at the reason _why._ It was as hidden to her as Erik's face behind his mask.

As he left, Shaheen set her opium pipe down. That was enough for one day.

_Be warned, Erik. My patience wears thin._

__

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Fighting the intense need to put his fist through a wall, Erik stalked through the corridor leaving the harem, taking no pains to soften his footfall. Let the little maggots flee in terror.

Shaheen Khanum's attempt to instill fear in him was laughable at best, and they both knew it. Rather like his own attempts to intimidate Captain de Chagny. Still, the khanum had the shah's ear...and eventually, her words would have influence. And she was clearly growing dissatisfied with him.

His own life was not the only one at risk, however. The princess, Nadir, the Captain and his crew, and Sadira...they all depended on him. It was a strange feeling, and not one he was at all used to. Erik's relationship with these four people—the most he had ever interacted with at one time—was the strangest part of this whole scheme. And though he had taken great care to foresee all possible mishaps, that one had eluded him. He didn't think that he would _care._

But he did, and that was what made him so angry. He cared whether they lived or died.

_And they will not die. Not while there is breath in my body._

Which, if one were to be honest, might not be all that long.

Once he had left the latticed windows of the harem behind, he strolled past the throne room, vaguely wondering if the shah were anywhere about...he had been contemplating taking the emerald at the head of the throne, and if the shah was not there...

He froze in place, flattening himself against the wall, safely shrouded by a large potted plant. The shah _was_ there, with Lord Ahmad. It would not do for either one of them to see him.

"You're telling me that there has been _no_ progress?" Ahmad asked incredulously, as close to outright rudeness as he dared.

"I have told you before," Nasir Shah replied. "We are examining all possibilities. Leaving no stone unturned, as the saying goes. And the daroga says that Pareesa has been spotted in many locations."  
  
Erik smiled beneath his mask. Nadir _was_ clever, though he rarely was acknowledged for it.

"Then he's lying, Your Highness," Ahmad replied. "Presumably to protect Erik!"

"Even if that is so," Nasir commented, "I have use for Erik yet. When the palace is finished...then justice will be served, make no mistake of that. Audience concluded."  
  
With that, the shah swept out of the throne room, not even seeing Erik as he passed.

Ahmad was still there, fuming. When another man entered the room, Erik first assumed it was the shah...but though the man was well-dressed, he was otherwise a complete stranger.

"My lord," he said, addressing Ahmad.

"You aren't supposed to be here!" Ahmad hissed. "What do you want?"  
  
"The attempt failed, my lord."  
  
_"That_ I know!" Ahmad snapped. "I did not need for you to come all the way here to tell me that!"

"Would you care to know _why_?"

"I suppose you'll tell me anyway?" Ahmad guessed cynically.

"Two men came to his defense...one was a European, the other was the daroga himself."

"That is hardly a surprise," Ahmad replied. "Since the daroga is more or less his bodyguard."  
  
Erik fumed silently, irritated beyond all measure at the idea of his having a bodyguard, or even needing one.

"But the foreigner...no one seems to know much about him," the other man continued. "Shall we try again?"  
  
"Not yet," Ahmad said after a moment's pause. "Not until we know more about our new adversary. I want him dead, of course, or at least incapacitated. Destroying one such as...._him_, is complex enough without adding to the problem."  
  
"Naturally," the other man replied. "Then we wait?"  
  
"Yes, wait until tomorrow night, but do not get caught I will not answer for your actions, is that clear?"  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
"I want my bride back," Ahmad said slowly. "The one who stole her will not live much longer."  
  
Erik's fists clenched. _That's what _you _think, you puffed-up little peacock!_ It would be so easy to rush in, to kill both of them...

But he did not. He stayed quietly where he was, barely even breathing.

"Of course, my lord," the other man responded. "Good day, sir."

"Good day."  
  
Erik nearly groaned aloud. Of course Ahmad had been behind the botched assassination attempt! How dense could he have been not to see it right away? And he would try again, he had said as much. Though he was sure of his own ability to take care of himself, he did not wish for Nadir, or even Captain de Chagny to be injured defending him. To say nothing of endangering the princess, or Sadira—neither of whom, presumably, could fight.

It looked as though his little road trip was going to happen sooner than he had intended. The sooner the royal family was reunited and out of the country, the better. He would have to leave as soon as possible. There would be a day to fight, but it was not now.

At the moment, Erik had more important things to worry about.

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"Checkmate," Nadir said, a triumphant smile on his face. 

Sebastien sighed, accepting defeat more or less gracefully. He should have known that someone like Nadir, who was an expert in dealing with Erik (and living to tell the tale) would be a good chess player as well. Both, after all, involved careful maneuvering. It was a level of subtlety that Sebastien himself had yet to master.

"What's taking Erik so long, anyway?" Sebastien asked, shifting position on the divan. He was not used to spending long periods of time in one place. Pirate, who had been prowling around Nadir's feet during the chess game, meowed in agreement, and promptly rubbed himself against the daroga's ankles.

"I don't know," Nadir replied, trying to disengage the cat, and not having much luck. "I imagine the khanum is detaining him."  
  
Sebastien shrugged, and winced from the pain it caused. He'd forgotten that he was still somewhat bruised from the fight. "I don't know Erik as you do, but I can't imagine anyone detaining him if he doesn't want to be detained."  
  
"Quite right, Captain," came Erik's voice from the doorway.

Nadir jumped, then rolled his eyes. "Must you make such theatrical entrances all the time?"  
  
Sebastien had to admit, Erik _did_ look rather theatrical, standing in the doorway with his cloak billowing around him. He couldn't help but smile.

"Does something amuse you?" Erik asked, taking note of Sebastien's expression.

"Not at all," Sebastien lied.

"We must leave as soon as possible," Erik said abruptly. "As soon as the sun sets, Captain, we shall take you back to your ship."  
  
"Naturally. That was the plan, wasn't it?"

Erik proceeded as though Sebastien had not spoken. "And shortly after, Sadira and I must leave for Ashraf."  
  
"What?" Nadir and Sebastien asked in one voice.

"I heard Lord Ahmad talking with one of his associates," Erik said, regarding their surprise with his usual haughty detachment. "It would seem that it was he who was behind the assassination attempt last night. There will be another tomorrow, which is why I must be absent."  
  
"Surely you aren't afraid of them," Sebastien said, and Erik gave him a look that would have stopped a lion in its tracks, skinned it, and made it into a rug.

"Of course not," he snapped. "But they are an unnecessary inconvenience at this time. When they come for me, Sadira and I will be gone."  
  
"Erik, use your head!" Sebastien exploded, standing up—and immediately wishing he hadn't. The pain from his wound was almost blinding. It almost made him forget that he had simply used Erik's name, instead of the polite, deferential form of address he normally employed. "What happens if they come after you on the road? With Sadira, who, I might point out, is hardly a match for an assassin!"

"She will not need to be," Erik replied smoothly. "I have ways of avoiding humans...it is something of a specialty for me."  
  
"I believe it," Sebastien muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Captain?"  
  
"Nothing," he replied, feigning innocence.

Erik ignored him. "Then we shall leave at sundown. Captain, you can't go around in your present state...I'd best find you something a bit less..._ventilated_."  
  
Looking down at his tattered shirt, Sebastien was inclined to agree. He looked like a wounded scarecrow. He raised an eyebrow at Erik.  
  
"Do you own anything other than black?"

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Pareesa stirred in her sleep. Sadira, who was sitting beside her on a pile of blankets, watched silently. Earlier in the day, the princess had been sitting up. And it had been a full half an hour before she asked for opium.

The poison was leaving her lady's body, slowly but surely. All that mattered now was making sure that Pareesa regained her will to live as well as her health.

And in the meantime, Sadira had to keep control of herself. She was worried about Captain de Chagny, though a messenger had come to the ship to let them know he was safe.

But something had happened. She wasn't sure if it was simply woman's intuition, or just the knowledge that Erik, Nadir and the Captain all managed to find their share of trouble in one form or another.

Sometimes she desperately wished for the freedom—or, more importantly, the _confidence_, to be able to actively stand up for her mistress. She wanted to be fearless, like Erik. _He_ certainly wouldn't quake in terror at the thought of the khanum's wrath, the way Sadira did. To her, the khanum was like a distant, looming shadow of evil, constantly threatening to pounce.

_How can I be strong for my lady when I'm terrified at the thought of her mother?_ Fear welled up in her throat, filling her mouth with a bitter taste.

Quickly, Sadira went to the table, where a pitcher of water had been set. Pouring some into a cup, she drank deeply. She had to calm down. There were two children who needed her help. That was all there was to it. Anyhow, this was no time to fall apart.  
  
Rocking back and forth on her heels, narrowly avoiding a spill, she watched Pareesa sleep peacefully. For once, her mistress seemed to be free of the nightmares about Mirza Taqui Khan, and Lord Ahmad.

Glancing out of the porthole, she saw that night had fallen. It astounded her that a whole day had gone by, and she had scarcely noticed.  
  
A knock on the door sounded, and Sadira jumped in surprise. She managed not to drop the cup of water, but still managed to soak the front of her gown. Wringing out the fabric, she opened the door a crack.

"The Captain is back, and the others are with him" Raphael said, peering at her curiously through open door. "He would like to see you in his cabin, as soon as possible."  
  
"All right," Sadira replied. Raphael hadn't looked overly worried, so Sebastien must be alive and healthy. "Just let me change, and I'll come right away."

It didn't take long for her to change, and leave with Raphael. Pareesa sighed in her sleep, but showed no sign of waking.

When Sadira entered Sebastien's cabin, she was relieved to see him seated on a chair, looking tired and bruised, but otherwise fine. Nadir looked as though he had also sustained his share of blows. Only Erik seemed to be unhurt...or at least, Sadira could not see it if he had.  
  
Erik did not turn from the porthole, gazing out of it as he spoke. "Close the door, Sadira."

She closed the door. "What happened? You look like you were all in a fight."

"What? Of course not," Sebastien said, standing up—and instantly doubling over in his chair.

"I told you not to do that, you damned fool!" Erik exclaimed, rounding on Sebastien like an angry tiger.

"And I told you—" Sebastien started to retort, but Nadir broke in.

"Yes, we were in a fight. It's really not a very interesting story..."  
  
Sadira was rapidly losing patience. What was it about men that made them so reluctant to disclose anything unpleasant to women?

"Please, this is no time for chivalry," Sadira said, politely but as firmly as she dared. "I want to know what happened."  
  
Both Sebastien and Nadir glanced at Erik, who sighed. "Very well. Last night, I was waylaid by a group of assassins. Captain de Chagny and Nadir came and helped to fight them off—in the process, one of them injured Captain de Chagny, which is why I advised him not to move too much."  
  
"Oh," was all Sadira could say. "But you're all right, Captain?"  
  
"Yes, as long as I follow the doctor's orders—when I remember," Sebastien replied with a wink. Erik rolled his eyes.

"There is, unfortunately, more," Nadir said, fixing his gaze on her. "We have learned that the assassins came from Lord Ahmad. He believes Erik responsible for Princess Pareesa's abduction. I really can't think why..."  
  
She bit back a hysterical giggle. The situation was far too serious to laugh, and even a smile seemed inappropriate.

"The point, Sadira," Erik said, "Is that now we must put our original plan into action sooner than expected. You and I will leave for Ashraf tonight."  
  
"Tonight?" Sadira echoed. "But—"  
  
"I wish I could have given you more notice," Erik said, sounding as close to apologetic as she had ever heard. "However, time does not allow it. They will attack again. We must get the children out of Persia as soon as possible."  
  
Her stomach gave a lurch. "What about you?" she asked Erik.

"They won't be expecting me to go to Ashraf, though no one will question my going to oversee the completion of the palace," Erik replied. "We will be able to elude any trouble."  
  
"I hope so!" Sadira exclaimed, before she could stop herself. "I can't...Erik, I don't know how to fight!"

"As long as you are with me, you won't have to," Erik said, as though that settled the matter.

To Sadira, matters were far from settled. "Who will care for my lady while I'm gone? And how long will the journey take?"

"I can answer the first question," Sebastien replied. "We have a qualified doctor on board, and of course I will do all I can. My men are honorable, Sadira. You need not fear for your lady's safety."

Hearing that put Sadira at ease, though she still felt a tinge of guilt at leaving her mistress' side when she was so sorely needed.

"As to how long," Erik said, after careful consideration, "I should say less than a week, perhaps four days, if our luck holds."  
  
Sadira nodded. It was hardly satisfactory, but what could she do? There was no choice. She had to go to Ashraf, and she would probably be safer traveling with Erik than with fifty guards from the palace.  
  
Feeling sick to her stomach, she stood up. "I'd better go and change, then, and tell my lady that I'll be gone."

"Very well," Erik replied. "But make haste, my dear. Time is of the essence."

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"My lady?"  
  
Pareesa opened her eyes, finding the task much less difficult than before. At least physically, she was feeling better.

"Sadira?" she inquired softly, as the room came back into focus. Her maid was sitting beside her hammock, her dark brown eyes shining. There was something very odd about her appearance...

Pareesa sat up. For the first time in weeks, she was able to do so without assistance. "What is it?"  
  
Then she noticed Sadira's clothing. She was dressed in the plain, nondescript clothing of a servant boy.

"Sadira, why are you dressed like that?"

Sadira looked away for a moment, and it appeared that she was holding back tears.

"I must go, my lady. I don't want to leave you, but I must go to Ashraf with...with a guide that Captain de Chagny has found. He and his men will take care of you while I am gone. It should not be longer than a week."  
  
"Who is this guide?" Pareesa demanded. "How does Captain de Chagny know he can be trusted?"  
  
"I have met him," Sadira replied quietly. "And I trust him, my lady."

Pareesa fell back onto her pillow, face in hands. "Has the world gone mad while I've been dreaming with the houris? Or have I gone mad?"

"No, mistress," Sadira said, touching Pareesa's face gently. "Neither one or the other. Rest, for me, dearer than sister. I must leave now. When I return, you will see your children again."

Pareesa looked up at her formerly timid maidservant. Her words were gentle, but her voice was firm and direct, and her gaze would brook no argument.  
  
_When did this happen? _Pareesa did not object to the change, but it was a surprise, to say the least.

"Thank you, Sadira. Please take care of yourself. And tell the children that I love them."  
  
"I will, mistress." Sadira leaned down, and kissed Pareesa on the cheek. "Rest well, my lady."

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"Before Sadira comes back," Sebastien said, leaning forward on his chair and resting his elbows on the tabletop, "I would like to ask you something, Monsieur Erik."

Nadir's dark eyebrows rose, as he held back a smile. Very few spoke to Erik in such a direct manner. In Nadir's opinion, it was probably very good for Erik in the long run.

In some ways, he felt more like Erik's parent or guardian than friend. He _was_ a guardian, in a sense. He was the guardian of all that was still good within Erik. And he was determined not to fail in his unofficially appointed task.

"What is it, Captain?" Erik asked. Nadir knew from his voice that he was trying to sound casual, though there was an undercurrent of wariness in his tone.

Sebastien brought his hands together, forming a steeple with his fingers. "Are you an honorable man?"  
  
"Do you doubt my word, Captain?" The wariness in Erik's voice had been replaced by annoyance that could possible flare into another explosion of his temper.

"No. I merely want to make sure that Sadira will be safe on your journey. She's very young, you know. Princess Pareesa values her company and friendship very much. All I wish is to ensure that her innocence stays intact."  
  
Erik's shoulders stiffened visibly, an obvious attempt to control his rage. "Captain, if you are suggesting that I would take advantage of the girl, you are seriously mistaken, to say the least!"

"I would ask the same of any other man, why should you be any exception?" Sebastien shot back.

Erik stalked over to the table, and laid his thin hands flat on the table, leaning toward Sebastien.

"Because, Captain, I am not like other men. As you will find out the hard way, if you dare to suggest such a thing of me again!"

Sebastien stood up as well, though it clearly caused him pain to do so, and he braced one hand on his chair.  
  
"I am not afraid of you, _Erik,_" Sebastien snapped, spitting the name out like tobacco.

"You would be, if you had the sense you were born with!" Erik retorted.  
  
_"STOP!"_ Nadir thundered.

Both Sebastien and Erik turned to stare at him, their argument temporarily forgotten.

"That is _enough_," Nadir said, putting a hand on Erik's shoulder in an attempt to draw him away from the table. "We do not have time for these childish games. Captain, will you be satisfied with Erik's word of honor that Sadira will be safe, in all ways, for the duration of this journey?"  
  
"Yes," Sebastien replied, still gripping the chair very tightly.

"Erik," Nadir said gently, as Erik straightened up and rearranged his cloak.

He hesitated for a moment, and Nadir knew that he was struggling with his demonic pride once more.  
  
"Erik," Nadir repeated, feeling more like a parent than ever.

"You have my word that she will be safe," Erik said at last, his gaze fixed on the porthole of Sebastien's cabin. 

"Thank you," Sebastien said, sounding a good deal calmer. "And good luck on your journey."  
  
Erik nodded curtly, just as Sadira entered the cabin once more. Her black hair had been tucked into a carefully wound turban. Though the clothing she wore was a little too large for her, it helped to hide her more feminine attributes. If Nadir hadn't known any better, he would have sworn that this was any other servant boy from the palace.

"Is everything ready?" Sadira ventured, hesitating just outside the doorway.

"It is," Erik responded. "Come, Sadira. I have packed for both of us, and with luck, we shall find the children as quickly as possible."

"Good luck," Sebastien said, his expression unreadable in the flickering light of the lantern.

"Go with God," Nadir said gravely.

"Thank you," Sadira replied. "For your blessings, and your kindness."  
  
Sebastien bowed. "The pleasure is ours, my dear."

Erik strode to the doorway, and Sadira stepped back to allow him out. "We shall return."  
  
Nadir watched them go, as Sebastien sank down into his chair.

_Godspeed, Erik!_


	8. The Luck of the Draw

Chapter Seven: The Luck of the Draw

(A/N: I apologize once more for the long wait between chapters. Hope you enjoy this update! The journey begins! Ahahahaha!)

The stars were taking their places in the dark velvet sky as Erik and Sadira set off into the night. The fastest way to Ashraf was through the Elburz mountains. Erik knew most of the routes, he had made sure of it—at least this way, he did not run the risk of being seen.

He rode ever faster, the night wind rippling through his cloak and tearing at his mask. Another figure, that of Sadira and her horse, was growing steadily closer. Poor child. It had been obvious from the moment she'd set eyes on the horses he'd chosen that she had never ridden before.

"_It's just that they're so_ tall_," she'd said, looking warily at the two horses. "How are you supposed to stay on? And what if they throw you, or bite you?"_

_He had laughed; a harsh, grating sound. "Are you telling me that a girl who will sneak into the bedroom of the most feared man in Persia is afraid to ride a horse?"_

_Her dark eyes had lowered to the ground. "My mistress used to ride often. She wanted to teach me, but…yes, I was afraid."_

"_Be afraid if you like," he had said, "But do not let the horse know you are afraid! Her name is Marjan, and she's quite gentle. Mount on the left side, and climb into the saddle. Like this." _

He had tried to move as slowly as possible, so that Sadira might see how it was done. Once he had mounted his own horse, he had motioned for Sadira to do the same.

Sadira had complied, rather shakily. But she made it into the saddle relatively unscathed. For her part, Marjan seemed almost bored. Erik's own horse, Xerxes, shifted as though impatient to move.

"_Now, nudge him with your heels, like so." He nudged his own horse, who promptly walked few steps forward. _

Sadira dug her heels into the horse's sides. Nothing happened. Throwing Erik a somewhat helpless look, she tried again.

The second time, Marjan took off like a shot, kicking up clouds of dust. Sadira had uttered a sharp cry, and Erik rode after her.

Finally, he caught up with Sadira and Marjan, reaching out with one bony hand to steady the horse. It wasn't working.

"_STOP!"_ he bellowed. The horse immediately stopped moving. Sadira was staring at him, her eyes very wide. Glancing down at her hands gripping the reins, he saw that her knuckles were white.

"You nudged too hard," Erik explained. "I should have warned you. Are you hurt?"

"No, I don't think so," Sadira replied, still looking as though she'd seen a ghost. "I just couldn't stop her."

"That's easy," Erik said. "All you must do is pull back on the reins and say 'Stop' or 'Whoa' or something to that effect. Marjan is well-trained. She'll know what you mean."

It was strange. In the past few weeks, he'd had more normal conversations with people than he could ever remember having in his entire life. It couldn't last, of course. Nothing good could possibly survive in such a cruel world. Erik had learned that lesson many years ago.

And yet, here was this little maid, putting her trust—and her life—in his hands. For some reason, he did not want her innocence to be destroyed. It was a beautiful fantasy, believing that human beings were basically good and kind. He had no right to destroy it, nor did anyone else.

_Perhaps Mirza Taqui Khan taught her that,_ he thought bitterly. _Yet another part of a world I can never enter._

She was looking at him a bit strangely now. "Erik? Are you angry with me?"

"No," he replied, a little too quickly. "Come now. We must reach Ashraf before the children reach adulthood!"

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Sadira was not sure how long they had been riding. She was still nervous, and Marjan seemed to sense it. Erik had told her she would have to work hard to win the animal's respect. At the moment, she was far too tired to care.

"How far have we gone?" she asked, hoping her tone was not too plaintive. Riding on horseback was very different from riding in a litter with her lady, as she had done every other time she had left the palace.

"About two or three miles, judging by the stars," Erik replied.

Sadira looked up. The stars did not look any different to her.

"We'll stop here for the rest of the night," Erik said, pointing toward an outcropping of rocks just ahead of them. Upon closer inspection, they formed a crude shelter that would protect occupants from the worst of the rain or wind. "I built a whole chain of shelters throughout these mountains."

"You built all of them?" Sadira asked, dismounting rather awkwardly from Marjan. "Why?"

Erik's golden eyes glittered in the starlight, seeming to glow. "Because I wish to avoid humanity. And what better place for a monster to hide than in a cave?"

Sadira did not know how to respond. Instead, she decided to focus on practical matters. "Shall I set out the blankets?"

"Yes," Erik replied, pulling back on the reins and dismounting. "I shall start a fire."

The shelter was roomier than it looked from the outside—quite comfortable, though she would not wish to stay there for a lengthy amount of time. She could not quite stand up, so she knelt down to set out the supplies they would need for the night.

After tethering the horses on a narrow rock, Erik began preparations to start the fire.

From the inside of the shelter, Sadira watched Erik work. He'd brought some kindling in his pack, which he had made into a small pile. Taking a flint from his pocket, he struck once, twice, and finally a spark appeared.

Reflections from the newly born flame danced on the surface of his mask, casting an eerie light on those motionless features.

Sadira had never seen Erik's face. She had heard stories, of course, from the ladies-in-waiting who had been in attendance at Erik's presentation to the khanum.

"_A face like a skeleton buried for three hundred years, and risen from the grave!" one had said. _

"_His eyes are burning with the fires of hell!" claimed another._

"_He is a demon! No human could have a face like that!" the youngest had cried._

Watching him now, intent on his fire, Sadira could not help but shiver. What lay beyond that mask that inspired such horror? She was curious, of course, but she was not about to attempt finding out. Sadira had a feeling that asking Erik to remove his mask would be suicidal at best.

"Do…do you want me to do anything else?" she asked tentatively, as she finished arranging the blankets.

Erik looked up sharply, as though he had just noticed that she was still there. "No. If you like, you can sleep. I will be there shortly."

Curling up on the blankets, Sadira felt warm and safe next to the small fire. She had to trust Erik—there was no one else. There was no reason _not_ to trust him. He had never broken his word so far.

That was when the full impact of their journey hit her. Sadira's eyelids flickered, then closed.

In moments, she was asleep.

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"Sometimes," Nadir remarked, "I wonder if you are suicidal, Captain."

Sebastien turned, his blue-green eyes alight with mischief. "You can call me Sebastien, if you like. It's hard to share near-death experiences with people and still insist on formality."

Nadir sighed. It had been hours since Erik and Sadira had left on their journey, and he had accepted Sebastien's invitation to stay aboard the ship a bit longer. Judging by the view from the captain's porthole, it was still well into the night. The captain had poured them both coffee, which they were now drinking at the table, by the bright light of the ship's lanterns.

"Don't change the subject, Sebastien," Nadir said at last. "Erik is dangerous. It is not wise to provoke him."

Sebastien looked up. "I thought he was your friend."

"He is. That doesn't mean he isn't dangerous. To truly be someone's friend, you must see the worst in them and care for them anyway." Nadir was struck by the emotion in his words. "Erik and I have seen the worst in each other."

"What do you mean?" Sebastien asked quietly.

Nadir could not meet Sebastien's eyes. He turned to the porthole as he spoke.

"A few months ago, my son died of a long and painful illness. He was suffering…and Erik had been his friend as well as mine. Reza—my son—had a peaceful, painless death because of Erik. I almost wouldn't let him. I…I was selfish."

"I'm sorry about your son," Sebastien said, his voice soft. "I don't believe that you were selfish in the least. It's only natural to want to keep the ones we love with us, for as long as possible."

Nadir smiled sardonically. "Whether it is in their best interest or not? Perhaps someday you will know what it is to be a father…but I hope to Allah you never know what it is to watch your child suffer."

"I hope not. I doubt that I could handle it as well as you seem to be doing. Anyone else would have hanged themselves by now," Sebastien replied.

Nadir laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. "I did try to kill myself, shortly after that. Erik stopped me. He saved my life. He said it was because, as Reza had been all that I had….I was all that he had. I did not try again."

"I think I understand now," Sebastien remarked, leaning heavily on the table as he stood up gingerly. "And again, I am sorry. Erik is lucky to have a friend like you."

"As I am lucky to know him," Nadir responded, with a genuine smile.

Sebastien sighed. "In any case, I probably shouldn't have been so brusque earlier. I have a tendency to let whatever is in my head come out of my mouth, without bothering to consider the consequences. But I meant what I said. I was genuinely concerned for Sadira. And," he added, glancing at Nadir, "I am not afraid of Erik."

"I know," Nadir replied. "But you need not seek to prove your valor. Erik and I have seen it for ourselves."

A sudden meow interrupted them. Pirate the cat was rubbing himself against Sebastien's ankles. The cat had been an unexpected gift from Erik to Sebastien, upon discovering how well the two had bonded during Sebastien's stay in Erik's chambers.

Both Nadir and Sebastien laughed, grateful for the release of tension.

"He's just hungry," Sebastien commented, as Pirate leapt onto the table. He reached down to pet the cat, who purred loudly in response. "I ought to see if Jacques can spare anything from the galley."

Nadir stared in disbelief. "That behemoth is your _cook?_"

Sebastien smiled. "Jacques is large, but he's loyal as they come—and, yes, an excellent cook to boot. Can I interest you in leftovers as well?"

Nadir chuckled. "I think not, Sebastien. I had best be on my way."

"In that case, good night," Sebastien said, with a polite nod.

"Goodnight, my friend," Nadir responded, smiling.

He stepped out of the cabin and into the cool night air. Somewhere, he knew, Erik and Sadira were beginning their journey. Nadir had the utmost faith in his friend—when Erik set himself to task, little could distract him. That quality had proven to be both a blessing and a curse.

_Ah, Erik…I would see you set free from this place. I would see your genius allowed to roam free, and mankind to accept you. I would see you find love, and have it returned. If it were in my power to do all of this, I would. Alas, I am but one man. And all I can offer you is my own friendship._

_I wish to Allah that were enough._

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The next morning, Pareesa woke up from her ever-thinning haze to the sound of the cabin door opening. A sudden wave of fear gripped her—what if it was Erik, back to finish her off for good? But no, he had never been here. She had been dreaming.

But it had felt so _real…_she had heard the floorboards creaking underneath his feet, felt the wind that caused his cape to billow softly…

The anger that had radiated from those golden eyes…frightening, all-consuming _fury…_that was the image that haunted the back of her mind.

Opening her eyes, she peered over the edge of her blankets.

"Oh, you're awake," Captain de Chagny said cheerfully, setting down a tray of food on the table next to her hammock. "I brought you something. Jacques' specialty. Have you ever tried crepes?"

Pareesa sat up, and glanced at the plate. "No, I haven't. It looks…"

She wanted to say _delicious_, but the very smell made her sick. What she wouldn't give for her opium pipe right now…

_No. No!_ Not when she was so close. Not when she would soon have her children back, and escape this horrible place for good. But then, how could she face her children, after what she had allowed to happen to them? Would they blame her?

Did the others blame her? Sadira, the captain, and the daroga? Did they believe her a failure as well?

"You look troubled," the Captain said gently, his blue-green eyes meeting her brown ones. "You needn't worry about the children. They'll be fine."

"I hope so," Pareesa replied, looking down at the tray of food. "I wish I could have gone with Sadira. I don't like the idea of her traveling alone with some strange man."

"Her guide is a man of honor," Captain de Chagny said, "I made sure of that before they left."

Pareesa snorted. It was involuntary, and extremely unladylike. "Men say that, but no matter how often they give their word, the moment they have the opportunity…they become savage beasts."

The Captain's eyebrows shot up. He looked as surprised as she felt at the harsh, bitter tone her voice had taken.

"Not all of us, my lady," he said after a moment's pause. "Some men are, I can't argue with that. But I am not. Nor are a good many of my sailors."

"Are you certain of that, Captain?"

"Fairly certain," the Captain replied, looking as though he were remembering something very unpleasant. "In any case, you needn't worry for Sadira. She seems to be a girl with a good deal of courage."

Pareesa smiled a little, the memory of her friend pulling her out of her black thoughts. "She is. You should have seen her when she first came to the palace. She was a little child who didn't speak a word of Farsi. She's come quite a long way."

_Whereas I seem to have regressed,_ Pareesa thought darkly. _I should have been searching for my children, instead of smoking opium and letting my husband—_

A horrible thought had suddenly occurred to her. If Ahmad found her—but no, she could not allow herself to consider that. The possibility was too frightening. His fury would be the death of her, she was certain of that. Ahmad would not let her live for her transgressions. Even if he did, Pareesa was sure that the alternative would be far worse than any death sentence, however creative.

"My lady, you're shivering," the Captain spoke up. "Shall I find you another blanket?"

Pareesa couldn't meet his eyes. "Yes, please."

While Captain de Chagny rifled through the nearest trunk for a spare blanket, Pareesa busied herself with breakfast. The crepes had little taste--but then, most food held no taste for her anymore. It was sustenance, and she forced herself to choke it down.

The captain came back a moment later, draping the spare blanket over her. "There you are. Is that better?"

"Yes, Captain" Pareesa replied automatically. She could not meet his eyes.

"My lady, are you sure..." Captain de Chagny paused, searching for the words. "I know I'm a stranger, but clearly something troubles you. Please trust me...I'm here to help you."

"No one can help me."

"I don't believe that. Not if you still want to be helped," he replied.

Pareesa looked up sharply. "And if I don't? What will you do then?"

Captain de Chagny raised an eyebrow. "Not a bad question, my lady. I hadn't considered that possibility."

Her temper flared. "It is not a question of wanting to be helped or not, Captain. It is impossible. Can you bring the dead back to life? Can you turn back time? If so, perhaps you might assist me!"

"I wish I had both skills," Captain de Chagny replied honestly. Pareesa was temporarily disconcerted. She had expected something like Sadira's terminal optimism, or her mother's insincerity.

"How would you use them?" she asked.

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I would bring back the members of my crew that fell in the line of duty, and go back to being a bored young aristocrat. I can't do it now, after seeing so much of the world. Once, believe it or not, I set out for adventure."

"And now?" Pareesa prompted.

He sighed. "As it turns out, I've found that adventure has a high cost. Friends and shipmates, for example."

Pareesa considered this, as a sudden vision of her late husband came to mind. "Love has a high cost, also."

"True," Captain de Chagny agreed. "Of course, one could argue that love is yet another kind of adventure."

"Perhaps," Pareesa replied, fighting back the wave of memories that threatened to overwhelm her. Mirza's arms around her, the soft summer breeze surrounding them as they watched the children play in the courtyard…

She swallowed hard, banishing her tears to the back of her throat. Clearing it abruptly, she asked, "Will you tell me about your family, Captain?"

"Sebastien," he corrected her automatically. "And yes, if you like. It's a bit dull, in all honesty."

"I don't mind."

Sebastien considered. "If I do, will you eat the rest of that crepe?"

Pareesa looked down at her plate. A crepe and a half remained of her meal. She had no appetite, but she could not sit alone in her cabin, either. Somehow, she did not wish to be alone right now.

"You have a bargain," she said.

Sebastien bowed as best he could while sitting down. "Well, then, let me aquaint you with the illustrious Chagny family. The current head of the family is my oldest brother, Philibert, the Comte de Chagny. His wife is a sweet lady—you'd like her, I think. Isabelle's a bit of a romantic, but she has a sense of humor. They've got a little boy, Phillipe. As fine a lad as I've ever seen. Named after one of my older brothers. I made Philibert promise to name the next boy after me."

"How many brothers do you have?" she asked.

"Four, including myself. And a sister. I'm in the middle," Sebastien replied.

Pareesa smiled, feeling a little envious. "You must miss them."

She would give anything to have parents and siblings that she missed. Did her own children miss her? A loving family was precious…and she had been a part of one, even if she had not had one herself. The guilt of allowing circumstances to tear her from her family was almost unbearable.

"Sometimes," Sebastien responded. "We got along most of the time, but I couldn't…I could never seem to keep my mouth shut when I was supposed to."

"Isn't that merely honesty?"

He smiled mischievously. "In good society, they just call it bad manners."

She laughed, surprising herself. Pareesa had never expected to laugh again. In the past few months, there had been precious little to laugh about.

"And now," Sebastien said, picking up Pareesa's fork and holding it out to her, "I believe we had a bargain?"

Smiling, she took it from him. "Oh, very well. I'll try."

He nodded, handing her a napkin as well. "That's really all any of us can do, isn't it?"

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"Erik?" Sadira inquired from beside him, as they rode along their trail. The sun was high as they reached a bend in the path. Though not entirely unpleasant, he could see that it was beginning to take its toll on Sadira. She kept trying to shade her eyes, which was no easy task when also trying to hold onto the horse's reins with both hands.

At last, he spotted a small grove of trees ahead, which provided an inviting shade.

"Yes?" he replied, expecting for her to ask for a short reprieve. Though, in all fairness, for someone as unused to travel as Sadira was, she was doing quite well. He could have traveled faster on his own, but then, some things simply couldn't be helped. "We'll stop in a moment."

"It's not really that…" Sadira began hesitatingly, "It's just…I've been thinking. What if we run into trouble in Ashraf?"

Erik considered. "If we do, leave it to me."

She sighed. "I just mean…if we run into trouble, I don't like the idea of being helpless. I can't fight or shoot or anything like that. I was wondering if…if perhaps you might teach me to…"

"Teach you to fight? I would rather not. Teaching you to fight would lead to teaching you to kill…and I do not believe that you would want that," he said after a moment's pause.

"I don't want to kill anyone," Sadira responded quietly. "If you can show me how to defend myself, I would feel much better. That's all."

Erik turned in his saddle to look at her. Her tone of voice was polite, as always, but her expression was firm and resolute. It was a practical suggestion, but he had to admit that part of his reluctance stemmed from his own pride. The idea of his not always being able to protect her had obviously already occurred to Sadira. He loathed considering the possibility, but now that he was faced with it...

"The best thing is to use what you already know," he said at last. "Use what you are skilled at when fighting off an attacker."

Sadira stared in disbelief. "Like what? Braiding their hair?" She immediately clapped her hand over her mouth, shocked at her own sarcastic outburst.

Erik laughed. He hadn't thought the girl was even acquainted with the concept of sarcasm. After a moment, she laughed, too.

"That is another thing," he continued, smoothly changing the subject. "Your laugh is...shall we say...rather effeminate. Can you do it again, more deeply?

Sadira attempted to lower her voice, achieving a poor falsetto. "Ha ha ha!"

He couldn't help it. Erik started to laugh again, harder.

Sadira tried again. "Ah ha ha ha!" Now she was imitating _his _laugh. Before they knew it, they were both laughing.

_This must be the way normal people interact,_ Erik thought. It was almost alien to him, talking like this with a woman. Strange how it wasn't much different from talking with Nadir. The idea that he could have more than one friend—or, more accurately, that more than one person would wish to befriend him at any given time—was a new revelation for Erik.

_But you're not her friend,_ came the irritating, familiar voice at the back of Erik's mind. _She needs you, that's the only reason she trusts you. If she saw your face, saw what you were truly capable of…she would turn away. And can you deny that she would have every reason to?_

Erik had long ago ceased to wonder what his life would have been like had he not been cursed with this face. To his view, there were simply too many other important things that needed doing---especially since he'd arrived in Persia. The khanum goaded him every chance she got about his face, but her style of mocking was very different compared to what Erik was used to. It was slow, subtle and cruel…like a poisonous viper.

That wasn't a bad comparison, actually. The khanum was very snakelike, although that could very well have been an insult to snakes worldwide.

Thinking of the khanum had brought him out of his good mood. His eyes fixed on the road ahead, as they directed their horses into the shade.

"We'll rest here," he said brusquely. Sadira looked surprised, but did not offer a reply. She merely dismounted, and gave the reins to Erik, who tethered the two horses.

"I'm sorry if I've been too bold," she said, in an almost inaudible voice. "I didn't mean to offend—"

"You didn't!" he snapped. "I was merely…thinking of something else, far less pleasant."

Sadira sat down on the ground, leaning against a nearby tree. Erik stood with his hand braced on another tree, glaring at the sky that peeked through the leaves above. He hated Shaheen Khanum, and her desire for increasingly more grotesque deaths. Yet he could not pretend that he had not experienced a certain thrill in taking another human life. It was almost a kind of revenge on mankind—it gave him the satisfaction of knowing that he had triumphed in some small way over the very beings that shunned him.

Erik had separated himself from the human race long ago. And only a few moments prior, he had felt as though he were as much a part of the human race as Captain de Chagny, or Nadir. At the same time, however, he felt…_tainted_, as though he was not worthy of interacting with other people. He had killed for pleasure. Even if he were not afflicted with a monstrous face, this in itself would be enough to isolate him.

A small cough from nearby jolted him out of his reverie, and suddenly reminded him that there was, in fact, another person in the clearing with him.

"Pardon me," Sadira said tentatively. "But M—I mean, Erik, there's something you should see."

"What is it?"

Sadira stood up, and pointed toward the path. "Someone is coming."

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Nadir caught sight of himself in the shining surface of the golden vase placed next to the door of the throne room. He looked harried and anxious, not to mention tired. Upon his return in the early hours of the morning, he had managed a few precious hours of sleep before the inevitable summons from the shah.

Nasir Shah would want to know why Nadir had not accompanied Erik to Ashraf. He had rehearsed what he was going to say, and hoped that the shah would believe him. To even _think_ of telling the truth was as good as penning his death warrant.

"_Yes, O Shadow of God. Erik and I have conspired to rescue your sister from her marriage, reunite her with her children, and defy you under your very nose! What do you think of that, you jumped-up little poppinjay?"_

Defying the royal family was one thing Nadir had never thought that he would do. Until he'd met Erik, the mere thought of defiance would have filled him with terror. To a certain extent, it still did. But that terror was mingled with a new, even more powerful feeling. The feeling that came from doing what you knew to be right, regardless of the consequences.

Nadir still considered the consequences, of course. He was Nadir Khan, Daroga of Mazenderan. By nature he was cautious—it was that skill that had allowed him to stay alive in the shah's treacherous court for so long.

Erik had performed for many people over the years, both rich and poor. Nadir could sympathize, as he had been performing for the shah and the khanum ever since he had entered the court. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he and Erik had become friends.

The mask that Erik wore was carefully made, and visible to all. The mask that Nadir wore was just as carefully made, but it was invisible to all but Erik.

Now he stood on the threshold of the throne room, waiting for the guard to notice and announce his presence. It was not something he was looking forward to. But for now, it was time to put on his own mask—and pray to Allah that it did not slip.


End file.
